FANNY    HUNTER'S 

WESTERN    ADVENTURES 


cJ 


L       flD<rfr&A 


v 


FANNY   AT    LA   BELLE    PRAIRIE. 


WESTERN  BORDER  LIFE; 


OK,    WHAT 


FANNY  HUNTER  SAW  AND  HEARD 


KANZAS  AND  MISSOURI 


PHILADELPHIA,  PA.: 

THE  KEYSTONE  PUBLISHING   CO., 

N.  E.  COR.  TENTH  AND  FILBERT  STS. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1863,  l>y 
J.    EDWIN    POTTER, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  or  tie  District  Court  of  the  United  States,    for  the 
EasUrfi  .District  of  ^* 


PREFACE. 


THERE  are  scenes  in  every  life's  history  which,  if  artis- 
tically portrayed,  would  not  only  excite  the  imagination  or 
please  the  fancy,  like  some  strange  passing  dream,  but 
would  teach  an  earnest  beholder  many  a  lesson  of  wisdom 
and  truth,  and  give  fresh  vigor  and  strength  to  the  humble 
aspirant  after  good,  in  his  wearisome  struggle  with  con- 
tending foes.  Where  is  the  heart  that  is  not  moved  to 
sorrow  as  the  eye  falls  upon  the  sad,  sad  picture  of  mental 
deformity  and  ignorance.  Where  is  the  hand  that  will  not 
grasp  more  tightly  the  "  sabre's-hilt"  with  which  humanity 
battles  with  wrong,  as  the  vision  rests  upon  injustice  and 
oppression  ? 

But  there  are  lights  as  well  as  shadows  in  every  repre- 
sentation of  historical  interest ;  and  in  no  part  of  our 
national  drama  are  they  more  closely  blended  or  more 
strongly  interwoven  than  in  those  two  eventful  years  which 
cast  a  pall  of  gloom  over  a  heretofore  happy  and  prosper- 
ous people.  There  were  also  prophetic  rays  darting  out 
from  behind  the  clouds,  through  which  the  discerning  eye 
might  behold  the  rocks  and  quicksands  that  impede  the 
progress  of  " great  events." 

While  the  life  of  our  great  nation  shall  be  prolonged, 
there  will  hang  in  the  gallery  of  time  a  picture  so  full  of 
political  teachings  that  every  beholder  cannot  fail  to  read 
in  it  a  lesson  of  progress  and  reform.  The  writer  of  this 
little  volume  lived  among  them,  noted  their  sudden  changes, 
and  has  sketched  as  well  as  she  could  a  few  scenes  from 

M18908 


VI  PREFACE. 

beneath  the  sunshine  and  the  clouds ;  and  she  doubts  not 
there  were  many  hearts  that  joined  with  hers  in  a  fervent 
and  earnest  petition  that  God  would  save  our  beautiful 
country  from  a  repetition  of  those  fearful  events  which 
followed  each  other  in  such  quick  and  rapid  succession 
over  the  beautiful  fields  of  Kanzas,  sprinkling  them  with 
noble  blood,  and  blotting  the  sunshine  of  prosperity  from 
many  an  otherwise  happy  home.  But,  alas  for  the  happiness 
of  our  great  nation  !  this  prayer  was  not  answered  ;  and  to* 
day  there  are  bitter,  bleak  winds  howling  through  the 
wide-spreading  branches  of  our  much  boasted  "  tree  of 
liberty." 

But  we  will  not  forget,  while  listening  to  the  requiem- 
notes  which  fill  the  air,  that  Kanzas  felt  the  angry  blast 
before  us ;  and  it  may  be,  in  looking  back  over  the  track 
of  this  sweeping  tornado,  we  may  discern  some  method  of 
impeding  its  progress. 

This  book,  kind  reader,  will  not  lead  you  through  dark, 
gloomy  shadows  only.  There  is  much  to  amuse  and 
please ;  as  of  course  there  must  be  when  we  take  a  peep 
into  the  social  and  domestic  scenes  of  frontier  life.  Such 
commingling  of  characters,  such  diversity  of  sentiments, 
such  clashing  of  interests  and  contention  for  "rights," — 
each  with  his  own  peculiar  idea  respecting  it, — could  not 
fail  to  fill  up  a  glowing  picture.  This  the  Authoress  has 
endeavored  to  do  in  her  present  sketch  of  the  three  years 
she  spent  in  Kanzas. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

rAcn 

SETTLING  A  CLAIM,   ...  13 


CHAPTER  H. 
THE  HOME  OP  THE  BORDERER,         .  .11 


CHAPTER  IH. 
THE  CONNECTICUT  SCHOOLMARM,      ...  .22 


CHAPTER  IV. 

NEARER  VIEW  OP  LIFE  IN  THE  BORDER  COUNTIES,         .       .       34 


CHAPTER  V. 
UPPER  AND  UNDER  CRUST,      ....  .       49 


CHAPTER  VL 
THE  CLAIM  DISPUTED,       ...  ...        64 


CHAPTER   711. 

PA01 

MAUD  AND  AUNT  A:EB:B, 71 


CHAPTER  VITL 
AUTUMN  LEAVES,  •  86 


CHAPTER  IX. 
DISTRESS  IN  DOMESTIC  LIFE,    ....  •       .       99 


CHAPTER  X. 
FTOMB  FEOM  KANZAS,        ....  ...      109 


CHAPTER  XL 
BORDERERS  TO  THE  RESCUE, 120 


CHAPTER  XH. 
KANZAS'  FIRST  MARTYR,  ...  ,  ,       .      127 


CHAPTER  XIH. 
SUNDAY  AT  LA  BELLE  PRAIRIE,       .        .        .  .       .135 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
AN  INTERLUDE, 


CONTENTS.  fat 

CHAPTER  XV. 

PAGE 

CROSSING  THE  RUBICON,    ...  .  151 

CHAPTER  XVL 
MORE  DISTRESS,  ......  158 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
CLOSER  INTRODUCTION  TO  A  KANZAS  SETTLES,        .       •  164 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 
DAVE  TAKES  POSSESSION, 180 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
CHRISTMAS,       . .      187 


CHAPTER  XX. 
FOR  AUNTY'S  SAKE, .       .204 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
POOR  WHITE  FOLKS,        .....  210 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

CITY  LIFE,        .  >  »  230 

I* 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXHI. 

PA6B 

THE  PATRIARCHAL  INSTITUTION  IN  KANZAS,    .  .       .      240 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE  GERM  OF  DISASTER  IN  THE  FAMILY,        .       .  .      246 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
JEALOUSY, 255 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
A  SOUTH  SIDE  VIEW, *    .        .263 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
MISUNDERSTANDINGS,        ...  .  .      270 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
UP  THE  COUNTRY, 288 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
THE  GERM  SPROUTS, 293 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
MARTHA  SENT  OVER  THE  BORDER,   . .  ....      303 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

FAGH 

JACK  OATLETT'S  SUNDAY  E AMBLE, 319 


CHAPTER 

ALLTOKANZAS,         ....  .          .          .  323 


CHAPTER  XXXm. 
THE  SQUATTER'S  KEVENGE,      .       .       .       .       .       .       .     327 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
TOM  WALTON  PLAYS  THE  FOOL, 332 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
TROUBLE  ON  THE  CLAIM,  339 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

SIEGE  OP  LAWRENCE,        .  ...-,,,      347 


CHAPTER  XXXVH. 

THE  ST.  Lours  PRISONERS,  .  352 


CHAPTER  XXXVIIL 
PLIGHT  TO  THE  FREE  SOILERS,         ... 


XU  CONTKNTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

PAGB 

TROUBLE  IN  THE  CAMP, 368 


CHAPTER  XL. 
OLD  FRIENDS  AND  NEW, 373 


CHAPTER  XLL 

UNCLE  PETER  TAKES  A  PEEP  AT  LIFE  IN  THE  BORDER  COUNTIE^      379 


CHAPTER  XLH. 
THE  DARK  RIVER, 392 


CHAPTER  XLIH. 
AUNT  PHEBE'S  GRATE, 402 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 
THE  FINALE,     .  .  ....      406 


WESTERN  BORDER   LIFE. 


CHAPTER  I.          ........ 

SETTLING     A     CLAIM. 

**  Loofc  here,  Turner,  ever  since  Atchinson  telegraphed 
to  the  borders,  I  have  had  my  eye  on  this  piece  of  ground, 
three  or  four  hundred  acres  of  as  pretty  land  as  you  '11 
find  in  Kanzas,  with  that  beautiful  growth  of  timber  yon- 
der ;  hey,  neighbor,  do  you  hear  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  Squire  Catlett,  that 's  just  like  you.  You 
are  always  speaking  fird,"  rejoined  Turner,  reining  up 
his  horse  by  his  neighbor's  side,  and  reconnoitering  the 
ground  with  his  eye ;  "  only  a  day  or  so  before  we  started 
on  this  tour,  I  crossed  the  river  to  pick  out  my  diggins, 
and  sure  as  life  I  settled  on  this  same  identical  spot.  But 
it's  no  use  now.  The  man  that  says  first  'It's  mine,' 
owns  these  new  lands,  and  you  are  the  chap  this  time. 
So  just  nail  up  your  claim  to  yonder  tree,  and  we  '11  ride 
on  and  find  one  for  Joe  Turner." 

"Where  on  earth  is  that  smart  sprig  of  our  young 
gentry,  Tom  Walton  ?  You,  I  say,  do  you  hear  ?" 

"What's  wanted,  Catlett?" 

"  Hurry  back  here,  can't  you,  and  do  a  little  writing 
for  a  fellow.  My  fingers  are  clumsy,  and  I  never  was 
much  used  to  handle  pen  and  ink.  Can  scrawl  Jack  Cat* 


14  WESTERN    BOBBER    LIFE. 

lett  at  the  end  of  a  receipt  so  that  it  will  go,  but  I  did  n't 
have  much  schooling  any  how.  You  see,  Turner,  I  mean 
my  brats  shall  know  more  than  their  father,  so  I  have  sent 
for  a  Yankee  pumpkin,  near  by  the  leeks  and  garlics,  to 
train  'em.  If  she  's  as  smart  as  they  make  out,  there  '11  be 
times  there,  I  reckon.  By  the  way,  she  's  coming  about 
these  days.  Won't  the  young  ones  kick  up  a  fuss, 
specially  Maud  ?  Halloa,  Tom,  you  've  come  back,  have 
you,  on  (tii9t  Arabian  courser  by  which  you  manage  to 
keep  always  ahead  of  us.  Now  down  from  your  painted 
saddle,  snci  while  Turrier  holds  the  rein,  help  me  write  a 
claim  and  nail  it  to  this  tree." 

"  Jimminy !  Tom,  if  that  don't  beat  Turner.  How  like 
a  French  dancing-master  you  came  off  Bucephalus.  With 
your  ruffled  shirt  and  tight  pants  and  glittering  gimcracks, 
blow  me,  Tom,  if  you  ain't  a  sight  for  these  new  lands, 
such  as  they  never  saw  before.  Whoa !  what  do  you 
champ  the  bit  so  furiously  for,  Bucephalus ;  did  you 
know  Turner  had  got  hold  of  you  ?" 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Turner,  don't  you  see  Tom  has 
got  his  little  pocket  ink-stand  out,  and  gold  pen,  and  the 
paper  on  his  hat ;  now  what  shall  he  write  ?  that 's  the 
question." 

"  Write  ?  why,  This  two  hundred  and  forty  acres  is 
Jack  Catlett's,  of  La  Belle  Prairie.  That 's  it;  right  to  the 
pint,  you  know." 

"  Don't  quite  like  that,  neighbor ;  don't  look  official, 
you  see.  It  oughter  begin  in  law  style.  What  is  it, 
Tom  ?  Something  about  presents.  Come,  you  stayed  in 
St.  Louis  there  a  week  with  old  Squire  Stanton,  the  big- 
gest lawyer  in  Missouri.  Of  course,  though,  he  kicked 
you  out  of  doors  for  a  lazy  lummux,  as  you  are.'1 

"  Tom's  got  too  many  niggers  for  his  good,  Catlett 
He  's  an  all-tired  shirk." 


SETTLING      »     CLAIM.  15 

"  No  lazier  than  the  rest.  Turner  and  Catlett  don't  do 
d  whit  more  than  is  good  for  'em.  But  just  shut  your 
head.  I  've  got  the  ticket  drawn  up  in  shape." 

"  Read  it,  then." 

"  Hold  on,  can't  you  ?  Let  me  nail  it  to  the  tree,  and 
you  can  all  read  it,  for  it 's  writ  in  thunderin'  big  letters. 
It 's  the  thing,  any  how,  and  I  shan't  write  no  more. 
There,  now,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

Tom  had  nailed  it  to  the  tree,  and  there  it  stood,  staring 
at  them  in  large  characters,  thus  : 

Kno  al  men  bi  these  presents, 

that  I, 
JACK  -CATLETT,    ESQ., 

OF    LAR    BEL    PRAYRY. 

hav  taen  possesshion  of  this  lot  of  Ian,  of  as  mani  akres  as  the 
lor  purmitz,  mezurin'  from  this  tre  as  the  south-east  cornur,  and 
in  sixty  days  I  shal  send  hither  my  son  Dave  with  a  lot  of  harty 
niggers.  So  kep  ure  distance. 

"  Ha !  ha !  ha !"  roared  Catlett,  "  that 's  it !  that 's  it  1 
Tom,  you  are  a  trump.  Wonder  who  '11  see  that  first. 
No  rascally  abolitionist  owns  this  land.  It's  Jack  Cat- 
lett, Esq.'s.  Not  the  worst  man  in  the  world,  neither. 
Now  if  Kanzas  will  only  grow  like  Illinois !  Whew ! 
would  n't  Tom  Walton  here  have  to  haul  in  his  horns  as 
the  richest  dog  on  the  prairie.  Hang  me,  but  don't  I 
wish  Chicago  was  growing  here  like  'taters  in  a  hot- 
house !" 

"  Look  here,  Catlett,  you  are  talking  treason.  This 
allusion  to  the  free  States  taints  the  air." 

"They  work  in  Illinois,"  chimed  in  Tom,  "  and  that 's 
what  makes  'em  rich.  But  I  '11  be  hanged  if  I  had  n't 


16  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

rather  laze  about  and  be  little  short  on't,  than  tear  round 
like  a  Yankee  for  a  bit." 

"  Now,  Turner,  did  you  accuse  me,  Jack  Catlett,  of 
treason.  I  say,  and  say  it  again,  that  the  free  States  are 
a  heap  the  best  off,  and  I  'd  like  Chicago  just  here,  but 
I  've  got  niggers,  and  I  '11  stick  to  'em." 

"  Well,  neighbor,  now  Tom's  mounted,  and  the  claim 's 
tip,  I  reckon  we  'd  better  make  tracks.  We  must  clear 
twenty  miles  before  dark,  for  I  want  to  settle  on  my  own 
claim  mighty  quick,  or  all  the  best  will  be  taken  up.  We 
are  a  leetle  ahead,  though.  Even  old  Marm  Gamby  hasn't 
stirred  yet,  as  nigh  as  I  can  find  out.  She  won't  wait 
long,  though,  before  she  gets  her  paw  on  some  of  these 
acres." 

"  That  Gamby  is  a  case,  sure  enough ;  but  how  on  earth 
will  she  work  it  ?  She  's  no  boy  to  send  over,  and  them 
great  sir ammin'  girls  of  hers  ain't  of  much  account  in  man- 
aging a  farm,"  said  Catlett,  as  they  rode  along. 

"  Leave  her  alone  for  that,"  said  Tom ;  "  she  knows  a 
thing  or  two.  But,  neighbors,  I  came  off  to  have  a  tour 
through  these  new  regions,  and  not  to  be  botherin'  over 
claims.  Pooh  !  I  would  n't  snap  my  finger  for  all  Kanzas." 

So  saying,  away  flew  the  beau  of  La  Belle  Prairie,  and 
his  neighbors  rode  after  at  a  more  quiet  pace. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE     HOME     OF     THE    BORPEKEB. 

"  WHAT  in  the  world  keeps  Dave  so  long  at  the  office 
to-night  ?" 

"  Lor,  Nan,  what  makes  you  bother  yourself  about 
Dave  all  the  while  ?  You  know  he  always  stays  till  the 
last  minute,  if  he  gets  chatting  with  the  boys  at  the  store." 

"  Nanny  is  right,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  laying  down  her 
pipe  with  a  concerned  air ;  "  it 's  time  the  boy  was  at 
home.  Martha,  run  out  to  the  kitchen  and  see  if  big 
William  has  put  out  Massa  David's  horse ;  he  may  have 
stopped  at  the  quarters.  Tilla,  don't  toat  that  child  so 
nigh  the  fire — you  '11  both  be  in.  O  !  there  he  conies !" 

As  she  spoke,  the  subject  of  her  anxiety  made  his  ap- 
pearance, and  after  kicking  over  two  or  three  stools  and 
ruthlessly  demolishing  a  cob-house  the  children  had  spent 
half  the  evening  in  building — they  only  escaping  destruc- 
tion by  the  most  surprising  agility  in  scrambling  out  of 
his  reach — he  finally  made  his  way  to  the  fire,  command- 
ing every  body  to  get  out  of  his  way,  for  he  was  cold. 

u  Any  thing  from  the  office,  Dave  ?"  said  his  sister,  as 
hs  settled  himself  comfortably  in  the  warmest  corner. 

The  young  gentleman  fumbled  in  his  pockets  and 
brought  out  a  letter,  which  he  handed  to  his  mother.  It 
was  addressed  in  a  delicate  female  hand  to  "  Jack  Catlett, 
Esq.,  La  Belle  Prairie, Co.,  Missouri." 


18  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  O,  ma,  let  me  read  it,"  said  Nanny,  as  Mrs.  Catlett 
leisurely  examined  the  envelope,  "  it  always  takes  you  so 
Jong." 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  strain,  Nan,"  said  her  sister ;  "  you 
aot  like  you  never  saw  a  letter  before." 

"  Well,  it 's  from  the  new  teacher,  I  reckon,  and  I  want 
to  know  when  she 's  comin',  that 's  all." 

"She  sha'n't  come  at  all,"  said  one  of  the  children  from 
the  corner ;  "  we  don't  want  a  teacher,  anyhow." 

"  Ma,  just  hear  thoso  young  ones  ;  you'd  better  smack 
'em  for  their  impudence." 

But  Mrs.  Catlett  was  too  intent  upon  her  letter  to  at- 
tend to  any  thing  else.  "  Well,"  she  said  at  length,  toss- 
ing it  over  to  Nanny,  "  the  new  teacher  will  be  here  to- 
morrow, sure  enough ;  so  now,  children,  there  will  be  an 
end  to  your  romping  for  one  while,  I  reckon.  Pear  me, 
how  glad  I  should  be  to  get  quit  of  your  noise." 

"O,  ma!"  said  little  Cal,  "  we  don't  want  to  go  into 
school.  Why  couldn't  the  old  teacher  stay  at  home  in 
Connecticut  V  It  just  spoils  all  our  fun." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  echoed  Maud ;  "  we  can't  go  over  the 
prairie  after  persimmons  now,  I  suppose." 

"Nor  down  in  the  wood  lot  after  grapes,"  said  Joy ;  "the 
Barker  bovs  will  get  them  all.  O  dear,  it 's  too  bad." 

"  It 's  too  bad,"  cried  all  in  chorus,  while  even  the  baby 
set  up  a  sympathizing  yell. 

"  Now,  children,  hush !  every  one  of  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Catlett,  angrily.  "  Don't  let  me  hear  another  word.  You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves  to  make  me  so  much 
trouble,  and  your  father  off  in  Kanzas.  What  do  you 
think  he  would  say  if  he  heard  you  talk  so  after  he  had 
taken  so  much  trouble  to  get  you  a  teacher  ?  But,  there ! 
nobody  ever  had  such  a  troublesome  set  to  manage.  Tilia, 
quit  rocking  the  cradle,  and  go  to  rubbing  the  sideboard 


THE    HOME     OP    THE    BORDEREK.  It) 

directly.     Maud,  what  in  the  world  are  you  about  ?     That 
girl  will  burn  us  all  up  some  day." 

The  child's  occupation  was  evident.  Having  rebuilt  the 
cob  house,  she  had  conceived  the  idea  of  illuminating  it  by 
means  of  a  bonfire,  and  providing  herself  with  materials 
from  a  pile  of  chips  and  rubbish  on  the  hearth,  and  making 
the  letter  of  her  future  instructress  serve  as  a  torch,  she 
had  set  fire  to  the  whole,  and  was  watching  the  conflagra- 
tion with  looks  of  great  satisfaction.  One  wrould  naturally 
expect  that  this  discovery  would  occasion  some  excitement, 
but,  with  the  exception  of  two  or  three  loud  calls  for  Mar- 
tha, a  stout  black  girl  who  had  fallen  asleep  across  the 
door-sill,  nobody  troubled  themselves  about  the  matter. 
A  few  lazy  strokes  of  the  broom  swept  the1  whole  burning 
mass  into  the  fire,  leaving  traces  of  its  progress  in  the 
shape  of  long  smutty  lines;  and  the  child,  unreproved  for 
her  mischievousness,  looked  about  for  something  else 
to  do. 

"  I  'm  right  glad  for  my  part  that  she 's  coming,"  said 
Nanny,  resuming  the  conversation  for  a  moment  inter- 
rupted. "  The  young  ones  have  run  wild  long  enough. 
How  will  she  get  here,  ma ;  the  stage  leaves  her  at  the 
store,  you  know?" 

"  O,  David  will  ride  down  for  her,  of  course,"  said  Mrs, 
Catlett. 

"  No  he  won't,"  said  that  young  gentleman  in  a  surly 
tone.  "  He  's  got  something  else  to  do.  You  can  send 
big  William  down  with  the  farm-wagon  to  toat  up  her 
and  her  traps.  I  am  not  going  to  spend  my  time  in 
waitin'  on  her.  She  may  as  well  learn  first  as  last  to  go 
about  by  herself." 

"  David  Catlett,  I  'm  ashamed  of  you,"  said  his  mother; 
"  when  your  father  told  you,  just  before  he  went  away, 
to  be  polite  to  the  new  teacher.  What  an  example  you 


20  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

set  the  children  !  Of  course  you  '11  go  for  her.  Big  Wil- 
liam can't  be  spared  anyhow,  we  want  all  hands  to-mor- 
row to  strip  tobacco.  As  if  I  had  n't  enough  to  pester 
me  with  the  charge  of  this  great  place  on  my  hands,  but 
you  must  set  up  and  show  how  mighty  smart  you  are, 
Martha,  bring  me  a  shovel  of  coals  and  my  pipe  off  th<, 
sideboard.  You  don't  know  half  the  trial  you  are  to  me> 
David." 

"  No,  ma,  nor  half  the  blessing,  I  reckon,"  said  her 
hopeful  son.  "  Come,  Othoe,"  to  a  beautiful  hound, 
crouching  at  his  feet,  "  we  '11  go  to  bed." 

"You  too,  children,  all  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett. 
"  Here  you,  Martha,  drag  out  the  trundle,  and  get  thesa 
children  off  to  bed.  Viny,  is  there  a  good  fire  up 
stairs?" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Car'line." 

"  Come,  then,  girls,  you  had  better  be  off;  it 's  after 
nine  o'clock.  I '11  just  give  out  breakfast,  and  see  to  the 
house,  and  then  go  myself.  Viny,  you  bring  in  a  fresh 
log  for  the  fire." 

A  general  scampering  ensued,  the  doors  were  locked, 
the  fires  mended,  and  the  house  became  at  length  quiet 
for  the  night. 

"  Nan,"  said  Maria,  in  a  half  whisper,  as  soon  as  the 
regular  breathing  of  her  neighbors  betrayed  their  uncon- 
scious state,  "  how  old  do  you  reckon  the  new  teacher  is  ?" 

"  How  should  I  know  ?     Why  ?» 

"  Because  Dave  says  all  teachers  from  Connecticut  are 
dried  up  old  maids  who  can't  get  husbands,  and  so  take 
to  teaching  for  a  living." 

"  Nonsense,  'Ria,  Dave  was  just  joking  you." 

*'I  wonder  if  she  will  set  her  cap  for  the  old  bald- 
headed  schoolmaster  over  the  creek.  Wouldn't  it  be 
ftinny  if  she  should?" 


THE     HOME     OF     T  II  E  .  B  O  K  I)  E  E  E  R .  21 

iC  'Ria,  you  must  n't  talk  about  such  things.  Children 
fiav'n't  any  business  with  nonsense  of  that  sort." 

"  Well,  I  just  hope  she  won't  wear  a  cap  and  spectacles, 
and  a  coat  with  a  short  body  and  scant  skirt,  like  old  Miss 
Barker  over  the  prairie." 

"I  don't  care  so  much  for  that,  'Ria,  but  I  do  hope  sho 
will  know  how  to  set  up  in  company.  I  don't  reckon 
she  will  though,  for  those  folks  from  the  back  States  are 
mighty  green,  they  say." 

"  O  dear,  I  wish  she  was  n't  coining,  Nan." 

44  Hush !  there 's  ma  knocking  for  us  to  go  to  sleep.* 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE     CONNECTICUT     SCHOOL-MARM. 

TIIE  next  day,  notwithstanding  his  expressed  determiiv 
ation  to  consign  the  new  teacher  to  the  care  of  a  servant, 
Massa  David  was  to  be  found  in  company  with  half  a 
dozen  loungers,  watching  from  the  porch  of  Belcher's 
store,  for  the  arrival  of  the  semi-weekly  stage  from  the 
city. 

"  Tne  Store,"  a  low,  narrow,  log-building,  standing  on 
the  edge  of  the  prairie,  had  for  many  years  performed  the 
duties  of  private  residence,  post-office,  tavern,  variety 
store,  and  general  gathering-place  for  the  whole  neigh- 
borhood. Its  proprietor  was  an  old  bachelor,  Tom  Bel- 
cher by  name,  who  by  his  long  residence  here  in  the 
capacity  of  post-master,  had  given  his  own  name  to  the 
establishment.  Shuffling  about  in  his  loose  roundabout 
and  slippers,  his  shining  bald  head  partially  covered  by  a 
red  silk  handkerchief,  he  was  to  be  found  in  a  dozen  dif- 
ferent places  in  as  many  minutes,  carrying  on  in  his  own 
person  the  duties  of  post-master,  clerk,  host,  and  chief  cook 
arid  bottle-washer  with  wonderful  expertness. 

A  couple  of  negro  servants,  whose  cabin  stood  a  few 
rods  from  the  house,  constituted  his  entire  household,  but 
the  jolly-tempered  old  bachelor  was  seldom  without  guests, 
his  own  good  company,  and  excellent  tobacco  and  whis- 
ky, furnishing  irresistable  attractions  to  all  the  loafers  of 


T  H  £     CONNECTICUT    SCHOOL-MARM.  23 

the  prairie.  On  mail  days  especially,  a  motley  com- 
pany assembled  to  watch  for  the  stage,  and  to  while 
away  an  hour  or  two  in  talking  over  the  news  of  the 
neighborhood,  and  to  pick  up  such  scraps  of  intelligence 
from  the  busy  world  beyond,  as  those  who  were  fortunate 
enough  to  take  a  city  newspaper  felt  disposed  :o  impart. 

In  no  very  amiable  mood  was  "  Massa  Dave,"  as  he 
awaited  the  arrival  of  the  stage  on  this  particular  after- 
noon. He  had  resisted  manfully  before  ever  he  consented 
to  escort  the  expected  stranger  to  her  new  home,  only 
yielding  at  last  because,  as  he  said,  "  the  women  made 
such  an  everlasting  fuss  about  it,"  and  resolving  to  per- 
form the  task  with  as  ill  a  grace  as  possible,  and  "  let  the 
woman  see  that  she  would  get  no  palaver  from  him" — a 
discovery  that  no  lady  could  be  long  in  making,  judging 
from  his  unpromising  appearance.  As  he  stood  sulkily  in 
the  doorway,  his  cap  slouched  over  his  eyes,  and  botk 
hands  thrust  in  the  pockets  of  an  out-grown  coat,  he  pre- 
sented any  thing  but  a  graceful  figure.  True,  he  possessed 
length  of  body  and  limb  sufficient  to  constitute  a  full-grown 
man,  but  nature  had  not  yet  supplied  him  with  a  corre- 
sponding breadth  and  thickness,  and  whatever  she  might 
do  for  him  in  future,  had  left  him  at  present  a  lank,  un- 
gainly, overgrown  boy.  His  temper  was  not  improved 
by  the  laugh  raised  at  his  expense  by  the  loungers  at  the 
store,  who  joked  him  unmercifully  on  his  new  character 
as  a  lady's  man,  and  advised  him  to  practice  all  his  airs 
and  graces,  and  astonish  "the  Connecticut  school-marm." 
Dave  chafed  under  it  all  like  an  enraged  cur,  inwardly 
cursing  all  women  in  general,  and  the  new  teacher  in  par- 
ticular. In  this  pleasant  frame  of  mind  he  awaited  the 
arrival  of  the  stage,  and  when  at  length  it  drew  up  in 
front  of  the  establishment,  and  the  driver  assisted  a  lady 
to  alight,  he  might  have  been  the  most  unconcerned  per 


24  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

son  present,  for  all  the  notice  he  took  of  her  arrival.  A 
Blender,  girlish  figure,  arrayed  in  a  close-fitting  traveling- 
dress,  and  a  little  straw  hat  with  green  ribbons,  stood 
upon  the  platform,  and  throwing  back  her  vail,  gazed 
timidly  round,  as  though  expecting  some  one  to  ad-dress 
ler. 

"Now,  then,"  whispered  a  flashy-dressed  young  fellow, 
standing  at  Dave's  elbow.  "  Come,  Dave,  don't  be  bash- 
ful, speak  to  her,  or  I  '11  do  it  myself.  By  George,  she's 
worth  it,  any  how." 

Thus  admonished,  Dave  stepped  forward,  but  never  in 
his  life  had  he  felt  so  much  at  a  loss  for  words.  It  had 
not  occurred  to  him  in  what  way  he  should  address  the 
stranger,  or  indeed  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  address 
her  at  all,  except  to  indicate  to  her  in  as  few  words  as 
possible,  that  she  was  to  be  honored  by  his  escort  over  the 
prairie.  When,  therefore,  it  flashed  across  him  all  at  once, 
that  he  must  make  himself  known  to  the  young  girl  stand- 
ing there  alone,  and  say  something  civil  to  her,  he  was 
quite  at  a  loss  how  to  proceed.  Something  must  be  said, 
however,  and  making  a  desperate  effort,  he  dashed  into 
the  subject  at  once. 

"  You  are  bound  for  Catlett's  place,  I  reckon,"  he  said, 
approaching  her. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  stranger,  raising  a  pair  of  large  browi? 
eyes  to  his  face.  "  They  were  to  meet  me  at  the  store,  I 
think." 

"  I  've  come  for  you,"  said  Dave,  blushing  to  the  roots 
of  his  hair.  "  How  do  you  do  ?" 

He  stretched  out  his  arm  as  straight  as  a  pump-handle, 
and  touched  the  little  gloved  hand  she  extended,  as  though 
it  had  been  an  egg  that  he  was  afraid  of  crushing,  then 
letting  it  drop,  stood  awkwardly  enough  twirling  his 


THE    CONNECTICUT    SCHOOL- MAKM.  25 

"  Have  you  waited  long  for  me,"  said  the  young  lady, 
breaking  an  ei  ibarrassing  pause. 

"  Well,  no ;  a  middling  while,  though,"  said  Dave ; 
u  yonder  's  the  horses,  if  you  are  ready.  They  '11  send  for 
your  traps  after  night." 

"  Yes,  I  am  quite  ready ;  let  us  go  at  once,"  said  the 
lady,  and  her  color  rose  as  she  met  the  curious  glances  of 
the  loungers  in  the  porch. 

Mounted  on  his  good  horse,  on  the  open  prairie,  with  a 
yard  or  two  between  himself  and  his  companion,  u  Massa 
Dave"  began  to  feel  a  little  more  at  his  ease,  and  was 
wondering  what  in  the  world  had  put  him  so  out  of  sorts, 
when  the  stranger  broke  the  silence  by  inquiring  the  di- 
rection they  were  to  take. 

"  The  road  yonder  over  the  prairie  leads  us  straight  to 
the  house,"  said  Dave.  "The  pike  goes  on  to  Carters- 
viile,  and  the  little  horse-path  to  your  left,  takes  you  to 
Barker's  Ferry.  You  've  rode  before,  I  reckon." 

"  Yes,  I  am  fond  of  it,  and  you  have  given  me  a  beau- 
tiful horse,"  she  said,  patting  his  neck  with  her  gloved 
hand. 

Filly  was  Dave's  favorite  horse.  "  She  is  an  easy-footed 
beast,"  he  said,  proudly,  "  and  she  's  a  real  staver  to  go — 
there  ain't  her  beat  on  the  prairie." 

"  Kind  ?"  inquired  the  lady. 

"  Kind  ?  there  ain't  a  better-natured  beast  in  Missouri; 
and  as  knowin'  as  she  is  kind.  She  all  but  talks,  I  tell 
you." 

"  I  love  a  good  horse,"  said  the  lady,  enthusiastically. 

"  You  can  have  Filly  while  you  stay  here,"  said  her 
companion.  "  We  all  ride  our  own  horses  on  the  prairie." 

Dave  had  forgotten  what  he  had  said  that  very  morning 
about  "  Old  Poke  Neck"  being  just  the  horse  for  the 
44  Connecticut  school-marm." 


26  WESTERN     BOi.  DER     LIFE. 

u  A  liorse  to  myself,"  said  the  lady,  "  to  ride  over  this 
wean  of  land.  O  how  delightful !  I  shall  never  tire  of  it, 
I  am  sure." 

Dave  smiled  at  her  earnestness,  but  as  he  glanced  at  her 
flushed  face,  animated  by  an  expression  of  girlish  delight, 
he  inwardly  pronounced  her  a  mere  child.  "A  pretty 
teacher  she  '11  make  for  our  young  ones,"  he  thought. 
44  They  will  run  over  her  head  in  a  week." 

The  remainder  of  the  ride  was  taken  in  silence,  the 
young  lady  appearing  to  be  engaged  with  her  own 
thoughts,  and  Massa  Dave  finding  it  difficult  to  shake  oft' 
his  newly-acquired  bashfulness. 

"  Yonder's  the  house,"  he  said  at  length,  indicating  its 
direction  with  his  riding-stick. 

She  looked  eagerly  in  the  direction  he  pointed.  It  was 
a  substantial  log-house,  two  stories  in  height,  with  an  out- 
side chimney  at  each  end,  and  a  porch  in  front.  The  coat 
of  whitewash  it  had  received  in  the  spring  had  nearly  dis- 
appeared, but  the  porch  in  front,  and  a  part  of  the  house 
itself,  was  covered  with  a  luxuriant  vine,  which  even  at 
this  late  season  retained  a  portion  of  its  freshness.  There 
was  a  yard  in  front,  with  a  common  rail  fence  surround- 
ing it,  and  a  large  round  log  for  a  horse  block  just  before 
the  gate.  A  little  behind  stood  a  small  log  building,  which 
it  was  easy  to  perceive  by  the  various  utensils  in  front,  was 
the  kitchen,  and  further  to  the  right,  its  low  chimney 
peeping  out  from  among  the  branches  of  a  large  beech- 
tree,  another,  which  Dave  pointed  out  as  the  school-house. 
Still  further  on,  and  partially  hidden  by  the  yellow  corn 
which  was  yet  standing  in  the  field,  a  dozen  or  more  log- 
cabins  stretched  away  in  a  row  behind  the  house. 

There  was  ample  time  for  these  observations  as  they 
rode  slowly  up  the  lane,  which  bvanching  off  from  the 
main  road,  led  directly  to  the  gate  ;  but  the  stranger  soon 


THE    CONNECTICUT    SCHOv>L-MAKM.  2? 

found  more  engrossing  objects  of  attention  in  the  group 
who  were  awaiting  her  arrival  in  the  porch.  The  whole 
family  had  assembled  to  receive  her,  while  two  or  three 
black  women  with  brooms  and  dish-towels  in  their  hands, 
stood  in  the  yard,  and  any  number  of  little  woolly  heads 
were  darting  backward  and  forward,  peeping  at  her  from 
the  corners  of  the  house. 

A  sallow-faced  woman  of  forty,  or  thereabouts,  dressed 
in  a  faded  calico,  and  smelling  strongly  of  snuff,  stepped 
forward,  and  introducing  herself  as  Mrs.  Catlett,  gave  the 
new  teacher  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  and  welcomed 
her  to  her  family.  "  My  daughter  Nanny,"  a  tall  girl  of 
nineteen  or  twenty,  came  next  in  turn,  and  then  the  stran- 
ger shook  hands  with  a  group  of  children,  whose  names 
she  could  not  remember,  but  whose  rude  staring  and 
ruder  whispers  she  found  it  impossible  to  forget. 

"  Maud,  shake  hands  with  the  lady,  and  say  how  dy* 
dear?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett  to  a  child  with  black  eyes  and  long 
sandy  hair,  who  was  too  busy  examining  the  stranger 
from  head  to  foot  to  return  her  salutation.  "  And  Miss 
Hunter,  we  had  better  come  into  the  parlor,  I  reckon  you 
are  tired  after  your  ride." 

Conducting  the  stranger  across  a  wide  passage,  dividing 
the  house  into  two  parts,  Mrs.  Catlett  led  the  way  to  the 
parlor,  a  large  room  occupying  nearly  half  of  the  lower 
floor.  A  fire  had  been  kindled  upon  the  hearth,  though 
doors  and  windows  were  both  open,  and  the  cracks  be- 
tween the  logs  admitted  a  free  circulation  of  air.  The 
room  was  scantily  furnished,  but  the  few  articles  it  con- 
tained were  of  a  motley  character.  A  home-made  carpet 
covered  the  floor,  while  before  the  fire,  its  soft  colors  con- 
trasting strangely  with  the  coarse  green  and  yellow  stripes 
of  the  other,  was  stretched  a  rug  of  the  finest  Brussels. 
Wooden  seated  chairs,  scanty  in  number  and  dilapidated 


28  WESTERN     BOHDER     LIFE. 

in  condition,  were  placed  here  and  there  about  the  nx  in, 
while  in  the  corner  stood  a  rosewood  piano  of  elaborate 
workmanship,  and  upon  an  old-fashioned  sideboard  there 
was  quite  a  display  of  silver  plate.  A  canister  of  shot  and 
a  few  wax  flowers  under  a  glass  case,  stood  upon  a  small 
pine  table,  against  which  leaned  a  gun,  while  a  pair  of 
stag's  antlers  ornamented  the  doorway. 

"  So  this  is  one  of  my  pupils,"  said  the  new  teacher, 
turning  with  a  smile  to  one  of  the  children,  who  was  slyly 
fingering  her  dress  to  find  out  its  material ;  "  I  hope  we 
shall  be  good  friends  directly.  Do  you  like  to  go  to 
school,  dear  ?" 

" No,  indeed,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "I'd  a  heap 
rather  be  down  to  the  stable,  or  off  on  the  prairie  all  day. 
Quit  winkin'  at  me,  ma.  The  teacher  asked  me  herself, 
and  I  said  I  would  tell  her  if  she  did." 

"  Maud,  I  'm  ashamed  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  some- 
thing  like  a  blush  rising  to  her  sallow  cheek;  "go  right 
up  stairs  this  minute,  and  stay  there  till  you  can  behave 
yourself.  She  's  the  worst  child  I  've  got,  Miss  Hunter," 
she  continued,  as  Maud  left  the  room  with  a  careless,  un- 
concerned air,  "  but  you  '11  find  'em  all  hard  enough  to 
manage." 

This  was  not  encouraging,  and  the  stranger's  face  lost 
its  bright  expression,  as  she  glanced  at  her  future  charge, 
who  were  amusing  themselves  in  one  corner  of  the  room. 
She  felt  wearied  with  her  journey,  and  longed  to  be  alone, 
but  just  as  she  had  found  courage  to  ask  to  be  shown  to 
her  room,  a  shout  from  one  of  the  children  announced  that 
Martha  was  bringing  in  supper,  and  a  moment  after  the 
tell  rang. 

The  appearance  of  the  room  in  which  the  family  usually 
rasided,  and  where  the  evening  meal  was  spread,  did  not 
serve  to  raise  spirits  which  had  been  rapidly  sinking  for 


THE    CONNECTICUT    S  C  H  O  O  L-M  A.  B  M.  29 

the  last  hour.  It  was  low  and  dark,  scantily,  even  meanly 
furnished,  the  walls  without  paint  or  plaster,  but  hung 
round  with  hanks  of  yarn,  red  peppers,  articles  of  cloth- 
ing, and  strings  of  dried  apples.  A  bed  in  the  corner, 
and  the  long  table  in  the  center  of  the  apartment,  filled  it 
up  so  completely,  that  there  was  scarcely  room  to  move 
about ;  and  it  was  only  after  a  confused  scrambling  and 
quarreling  among  the  children  that  all  at  length  found 
seats  at  the  table. 

"  Viny,  lead  Madam  Hester  to  her  place,"  said  Mrs. 
Catlett,  after  the  tumult  had  subsided. 

The  girl  approached  an  old  woman  who  was  seated  iu 
the  chimney  corner,  wrapped  up  in  a  large  cloak,  and  en- 
deavored by  touching  her  arm  to  attract  her  attention. 

u  Come,  Madam  Hester,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  "  supper  is 
ready." 

The  old  woman  looked  up,  displaying  a  yellow,  wrinkled 
visage,  with  thin,  sharp  features,  and  a  pair  of  bleared 
eyes. 

"  Two  silver  tea-caddys  and  three  dozen  spoons,"  she 
said,  in  a  cracked  voice,  "  in  the  corner  cupboard  in  the 
keepin'  room." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett ;  "  no  matter  about  it 
now — don't  notice  her,  Miss  Hunter;  her  mind  just  runs 
on  the  past  the  whole  while." 

With  the  assistance  of  Viny,  the  old  woman  hobbled  to 
the  table,  and  grasping  her  knife  and  fork  with  her  trem- 
bling hands,  every  thing  else  seemed  forgotten  in  the  food 
before  her. 

The  table  was  bountifully  spread  with  a  variety  of  good 
things,  while  black  Martha  was  kept  running  to  and  from 
the  kitchen  for  fresh  supplies.  A  side  ^f  cold  bacon,  the 
"staff  of  life"  with  all  westerners,  loaves,  of  delicious-look- 
ing batter  bread,  fresh  from  the  dut/h-oven,  hot  coflfea 


80  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

and  biscuit,  with  a  huge  pitcher  of  buttermilk,  these  com- 
prised  the  entertainment,  a  saucer  of  preserves  being 
passed  round  at  the  close,  from  which  all  helped  them- 
selves with  a  teaspoon. 

The  new  teacher  was  too  anxious  and  weary  to  feel 
much  appetite,  and  soon  after  supper  requested  permis- 
sion to  retire  to  her  own  room. 

"  Viny,  show  Miss  Hunter  up  stairs,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett ; 
and  following  the  girl  up  an  open,  uncarpeted  staircase, 
leading  from  the  apartment  where  they  sat  to  one  of  the 
same  size  above,  she  discovered  to  her  dismay  that  it  waa 
designed  for  more  than  one  occupant.  It  contained  three 
beds,  a  bench  with  its  bucket  of  water,  tin  wash-basin  and 
gourd  shell,  a  small  table,  a  broken  looking-glass,  f<mr 
trunks,  and  a  stool.  A  calico  curtain  fluttered  in  the 
night  air  before  one  of  the  small  windows,  the  other  was 
destitute  of  even  this  poor  protection. 

Declining  Viny's  proffered  assistance,  and  dismissing 
her  for  the  night,  the  new  teacher  gave  one  long,  melan- 
choly look  round  the  room,  and  then  sinking  upon  the 
stool  before  the  fire,  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  and 
burst  into  tears. 

Fanny  Hunter  was  the  daughter  of  a  clergyman,  who 
for  twenty  years  had  been  pastor  of  a  church  in  one  of 
the  smaller  cities  of  Connecticut.  His  ministry  had  been 
greatly  blessed,  and  it  seemed  a  mysterious  providence 
when  in  the  prime  of  life,  and  in  the  midst  of  increasing 
usefulness,  he  was  suddenly  removed  from  his  labors  on 
earth  to  his  everlasting  rest  above.  His  loss  was  deeply 
mourned,  not  only  by  his  own  afflicted  people,  but  by  the 
neighboring  churches,  and  wherever  his  influence  as  a 
minister  and  as  a  Christian  had  been  felt. 

To  those  nearer  and  dearer  ones  who  wero,  thus  de- 


THE    CONNECTICUT    SCHOOL-MARM.  81 

prived  of  a  husband  and  a  father,  it  was  a  stunning  blow, 
and  the  pleasant  parsonage,  where  they  had  spent  so  many 
years  in  his  society,  seemed  desolate  indeed.  It  was  at 
this  time,  and  when  the  widow  was  so  bowed  down  by 
sorrow  as  to  be  incapable  of  any  active  exertion,  that  her 
eldest  daughter,  Fanny,  displayed  a  strength  of  character 
and  maturity  of  judgment,  of  which  none  had  supposed 
her  capable.  She  controlled  her  own  grief  to  comfort 
and  sustain  her  mother  and  young  sister,  took  upon  her- 
self the  arrangement  for  the  last  sad  rites,  and,  after  all 
was  over,  though  her  own  heart  was  bursting  with  grief 
and  she  longed  to  weep  in  solitude,  constrained  herself  to 
receive  visits  of  condolence  from  well-meaning,  though  mis- 
taken friends,  that  her  poor  mother  might  find  comfort 
in  silent  communion  with  her  own  heart  and  with  her  God. 

It  is  one  of  the  hard  necessities  of  a  minister's  lot  at  the 
present  day,  that  he  is  unable  to  make  any  adequate  pro- 
vision for  his  family,  in  case  of  his  sudden  death.  His 
salary  is  not  often  large  enough  to  allow  him  to  live  as  a 
people  expect  their  minister  to  live,  and  at  the  same  time 
to  lay  up  any  thing  against  a  rainy  day.  His  children 
must  be  well-educated  and  well-dressed,  his  house  fur- 
nished genteelly,  and  a  certain  amount  of  company  enter- 
tained, his  name  at  the  head  of  every  subscription-list, 
and  his  purse  open  to  every  call  of  benevolence,  and  all 
this,  perhaps,  on  a  salary  of  eight  hundred  or  a  thousand 
dollars  a  year.  If  he  was  permitted  to  live  as  a  mechanic 
or  merchant  in  his  own  parish,  whose  income  is  the  same, 
he  would  not  so  often  be  found  in  debt,  or  his  widow  in 
destitute  circumstances. 

Mr.  Hunter  was  not  a  man  to  study  economy  in  little 
things,  and  he  would  have  found  no  difficulty  in  spending 
his  salary  twice  over  ;  but  through  the  prudent  manage- 
ment of  his  wife,  they  had  contrived  to  make  both  ends 
of  each  year  meet,  and  this  was  all.  The  rent  of  a  small 


32  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

farm  somewhere  in  the  State  of  Maine,  which  had  been 
left  to  Mrs.  Hunter  by  her  father,  was  all  she  could  now 
depend  upon  for  a  support,  and  this  was  barely  sufficient 
for  her  own  maintenance,  setting  aside  her  two  daugh- 
ters, the  younger  of  whom  was  not  yet  out  of  school. 

In  this  difficulty,  she  applied,  without  hesitation,  to  one 
*ho  was  both  willing  and  able  to  assist  her,  and  who, 
foreseeing  the  possibility  of  this  misfortune,  had  frequently 
assured  her  that  whatever  he  possessed,  should  be  at  hei 
command  if  she  ever  needed  it.  This  was  Uncle  Peter, 
an  unmarried  brother,  who  resided  at  the  West,  where  ha 
was  doing  a  fine  business,  and  had  accumulated  a  hand- 
some property. 

To  Uncle  Peter  the  widow  wrote,  and  received  just 
such  a  reply  as  she  expected,  a  letter  full  of  sympathy  and 
brotherly  love,  and  containing  the  assurance  that  she  and 
her  children  should  never  want  while  he  owned  a  penny 
in  the  world.  Fanny  must  go  on  with  her  music,  and 
Mary  with  her  schooling,,  and  as  soon  as  the  business  sea- 
son was  over,  he  would  come  on  and  see  how  they  were 
getting  along.  Meanwhile  she  must  set  aside  all  delicate 
scruples,  accept  the  people's  kind  offer,  and  continue  to 
occupy  the  parsonage  rent  free.  It  was  no  more  than 
they  ought  to  do  for  the  family  of  a  man  who  had  worn 
himself  out  in  their  service;  she  was  to  take  it  as  her  due, 
and  not  as  a  piece  of  charity. 

This  letter,  so  characteristic  of  Uncle  Peter,  and  accom- 
panied by  something  more  substantial  than  words,  was 
like  a  ray  of  sunshine  to  the  widow's  heart,  and  relieved  her 
mind  of  its  one  great  anxiety,  the  welfare  of  her  children. 

"  For  myself,  Fanny,  I  can  get  along  with  very  little ; 
but  to  think  of  you  and  Mary  pinched  by  poverty,  oh,  it 
was  dreadful !  Now  we  will  all  keep  together  in  the  olo 
gpot,  and  be  as  happy  as  we  can." 


THJC    CONNECTICUT    SCHOOL-MARM.  33 

Fanny  gave  a  cheerful  response,  but  her  own  mind  was 
far  from  being  at  ease.  Such  an  entire  dependence  upon 
any  one  save  an  own  parent,  was  extremely  trying  to  a 
proud'  spirit  like  hers,  and  again  and  again  the  thought 
presented  itself  that  with  her  education  and  various  ad- 
\  antages,  she  could  easily  earn  a  comfortable  support  for 
her  sister  and  herself.  But  one  look  at  the  pale  face  of 
her  mother,  convinced  her  that  her  whole  duty  at  present 
was  to  comfort  and  support  the  bereaved  one,  and  ac- 
cordingly all  plans  that  would  interfere  with  this,  were 
given  up. 

But  when  a  year  passed  away,  and  the  widow  had  re 
gained  in  some  measure  her  accustomed  cheerfulness, 
Fanny  felt  that  the  objection  was  removed,  and  after  talk- 
ing the  matter  over  with  her  mother  and  Uncle  Peter, 
she  received  their  reluctant  consent,  and  Uncle  Peter 
promised  to  find  her  a  situation.  This  was  speedily  done, 
and  through  the  influence  of  a  friend  at  the  West,  the 
place  of  teacher  was  secured  for  her  in  the  family  of  Mr. 
Catlett,  represented  to  be  a  gentleman  of  wealth  and  re- 
spectability, who  had  removed  a  few  years  previous  from 
Virginia  to  Missouri. 

44  But  it 's  so  far,"  said  the  widow  to  Uncle  Peter,  after 
the  letter  was  received  and  Fanny  had  left  the  room. 
46  Way  off  in  Missouri !  Why,  the  child  never  was  away 
from  home  six  weeks  in  her  life." 

"  The  1  irther  the  better,  then,"  was  the  reply,  "  the 
further  the  better.  She  '11  be  thrown  upon  her  own  re- 
sources at  once,  and  will  be  a  deal  better  off  than  if  sha 
had  half  a  dozen  counsellors  to  go  to.  Let  her  go,  Mary, 
Fanny  has  a  brave  spirit,  if  I  understand  her,  arid  wiJ]  go 
through  it  all  like  a  heroine." 

And  Fanny  went. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HEARER   VIEW   OF   LIFE  IN  THE  BORDER   COUNTIES. 

WHILE  the  family  below  stairs,  were  commenting  freely 
upon  the  dress,  appearance,  and  manners  of  the  new 
teacher,  in  the  room  above,  the  young  lady  herself  was 
Bitting  disconsolately  before  the  fire.  So  startled  and  be- 
wildered was  she  at  the  aspect  of  her  new  home,  that  it 
was  some  time  before  she  could  compose  herself  sufficiently 
to  think  calmly,  and  to  form  any  thing  like  a  correct  judg- 
ment of  the  real  discomforts  of  her  situation.  In  the  first 
gush  of  disappointment  at  finding  every  thing  so  rough 
and  strange,  with  the  desolate,  loneliness  fresh  upon  her, 
that  one  seldom  from  home  feels  in  a  new  place,  she  had 
gunk  down  astonished  and  overwhelmed  at  the  prospect, 
giving  way  to  the  most  despairing  thoughts. 

"  Gould  she  stay  here  a  whole  year  ? — here  !"  and  she 
glanced  disconsolately  round  the  room.  "Had  she  left 

the  dear  old  parsonage  at  N for  such  a  place  as  this  ? 

where  nobody  cared  for  her,  and  where  sh.e  could  not  even 
have  the  comfort  of  a  room  to  herself?  What  would 
mother  and  Uncle  Peter  say  if  they  should  see  her  to- 
night ?  Could  she  stay?  O  dear,  dear!"  and  leaning 
her  head  against  the  chimney,  Fanny  cried  as  she  had 
seldom  cried  before. 

Rising  at  length,  and  wiping  away  the  tears  that  blinded 
her  eyes,  she  crossed  the  room,  and  unlocking  her  trunk, 


LIFE    IN    THE    BORDER    COUNTIES.  35 

took  oat  a  small  pocket-Bible.  Pressing  the  well-worn 
volume  to  her  lips,  she  returned  to  her  low  seat  by  the 
fire.  "  I  have  still  this  comfort  left,"  she  thought,  and 
once  more  wiping  away  the  tears  that  would  come,  she 
opened  the  book  at  random  and  began  to  read :  "  Not 
that  I  speak  in  respect  of  want,  for  I  have  learned  in  what- 
soever state  I  am,  therewith  to  be  content.  I  know  both 
how  to  be  abased  and  I  know  how  to  abound:  every- 
where and  in  all  things  I  am  instructed  both  to  be  full 
and  to  be  hungry,  both  to  abound  and  to  suffer  need.  I 
can  do  all  things  through  Christ  which  strengthened 
me." 

"  That 's  it !"  said  Fanny,  half  aloud ;  "  that 's  just  the 
spirit  I  need !  What  right  have  I  to  murmur  at  any 
thing,  if  indeed  Christ  is  my  friend  ?  O !  I  can  never 
be  alone  while  I  keep  near  to  him." 

She  felt  rebuked  for  her  selfish  despondency  and  want 
of  trust  in  God,  and  thinking  that  it  was  not  by  mere 
chance  that  she  had  opened  to  the  passage,  she  took  the 
lesson  it  conveyed,  home  to  her  heart.  She  remembered 
how  her  pious  grandmother,  in  times  of  darkness  and  dis- 
tress, would  sometimes  open  the  Bible  in  the  same  way, 
and  lighting  upon  some  cheering  promise,  would  come 
forth  from  the  cloud  with  joy  and  peace  in  her  soul.  "  Be 
careful  for  nothing,"  she  further  read,  "  but  in  every  thing, 
by  prayer  and  supplication  with  thanksgiving,  let  your  re- 
quests  be  made  known  unto  God.  And  the  peace  of  God 
which  passeth  all  understanding  shall  keep  your  hearts 
and  minds  through  Christ  Jesus." 

Fanny  bent  over  the  little  Bible,  and  breathed  an  earn, 
est  prayer  that  a  larger  portion  of  this  spirit  might  be 
given  her — a  simple  child-like  trust  in  God — and  then, 
comforted  and  strengthened,  she  began  to  look  her  situa- 
tion calmly  in  the  face. 


36  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

"  After  all  there  was  nothing  so  very  bad  about  it.  She 
had  come  out  West  to  teach  school,  not  to  enjoy  herself. 
She  had  found  her  new  home  a  log-house  in  the  middle 
of  a  three  mile  prairie ;  but  what  then  ?  People  had  lived 
in  log-houses  before,  very  comfortably  too.  There  was 
nothing  so  terrible  In  this. 

"Then,  too,  though  not  refined  and  cultivated  in  their 
manners,  the  family  seemed  kind  andr  cordial ;  it  would 
be  easy  to  win  their  regard,  and  they  would  do  all 
in  their  power  to  make  her  happy.  Happy !  of  course 
she  would  be  happy.  Her  school  would  keep  her  too 
busy  to  allow  much  time  for  home-sickness.  There  was 
plenty  to  do ;  all  that  was  needed  was  courage  and  pa- 
tience to  do  it.  The  children  looked  wild  and  neglected 
enough,  to  be  sure,  but  she  would  try  to  obtain  a  place  in 
their  hearts,  gain  some  influence  over  them,  and  do  them 
good.  O  !  if  she  could  succeed  in  this,  what  were  the 
few  inconveniences  she  might  suffer  in  comparison  with 
the  pleasure  she  would  experience  ?" 

Fanny  was  looking  on  the  sunny  side  now,  and  soon 
forgot  all  her  doleful  thoughts,  in  formLjg  plans  for  the 
advancement  of  her  school.  An  hour  slipped  by,  and  in 
the  same  cheerful  frame  of  mind  she  retired  to  rest.  Even 
the  discovery  that  through  one  or  two  chinks  in  the  roof, 
the  stars  could  be  seen,  only  aiforded  her  merriment,  and 
she  amused  herself  by  thinking  how  conveniently  she  could 
teach  her  scholars  the  science  of  astronomy. 

She  quickly  fell  asleep,  and  so  sound  were  her  slumbers 
that  even  the  entrance  of  her  room-mates  failed  to  disturb 
them.  Long  after  their  whispered  conversation  had  ceased, 
the  subject  of  it  awoke  with  a  start,  and  raising  her  head 
looked  round  upon  the  sleeping  group. 

The  fire  was  burning  brightly,  and  stretched  before  it 
wrapped  in  an  old  quilt,  a  black  woman  was  sleeping* 


LIFE    IN    THE    BORDER    COUNTIES.  87 

Fanny  glanced  at  the  face  of  her  bed-fellow,  but  a  strange 
noise  in  the  next  room  drew  her  attention  that  way,  and 
immediately  fixed  it  upon  what  she  discovered  tnere. 
This  chamber,  or  rather  closet,  for  it  deserved  no  other 
^ame,  opened  out  of  the  principal  room,  occupying  a  part 
of  the  space  over  the  passage.  Fanny  had  not  observed 
it  before,  but  as  she  now  lay,  it  was  in  full  view,  being  lit 
up  by  the  fire.  A  narrow  bed,  a  chair,  and  a  large  old- 
fashioned  chest  studded  with  brass  nails,  was  all  the  fur- 
niture  it  contained,  and,  indeed,  all  that  it  would  hold 
There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  this,  but  sitting  upon 
the  side  of  the  bed,  was  a  figure  so  wild  and  grotesque  in 
its  appearance,  that  Fanny  gazed  upon  it  in  perfect  aston- 
iskment.  The  face  was  that  of  the  same  old  woman  whom 
she  had  seon  at  the  supper-table,  but  looking  infinitely 
more  ghastly  and  hag-like,  by  the  flickering  light  of  the 
fire,  and  from  the  strange  manner  in  which  her  withered 
form  was  dressed.  About  her  head,  from  which  streamed 
long  thin  locks  of  gray  hair,  was  twisted  a  wreath  of  arti- 
ficial flowers,  all  crushed  and  faded  by  age,  while  over 
her  night-dress  she  had  thrown  a  scarlet  mantle  with  rich 
trimmings  of  black  lace,  from  which  protruded  her  long 
skinny  arms,  ornamented  with  showy  bracelets  rattling 
and  shaking  at  every  movement.  She  was  bending  over 
the  old  chest  which  stood  wide  open,  and  after  fumbling 
awhile  in  its  depths  she  brought  out  some  faded  article  of 
finery,  a  scarf  or  ribbon  perhaps,  and  holding  it  to  the 
light,  turned  it  this  way  and  that  way,  brought  it  close 
to  her  bleared  eyes,  and  muttering  to  herself  all  the  while 
between  her  toothless  gums,  smoothed  down  every  wrin- 
kle with  her  trembling  hands,  and  then  laid  it  carefully 
away  in  its  place.  Behind  her  on  the  wall,  a  huge,  £,-- 
tesque  shadow  went  through  the  same  n  )tions,  nodding 


38  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE 

its'  head  and  raising  its  palsied  arms  in  hideous  mockery 
of  the  original. 

There  was  something  unearthly  in  the  scene,  and  one 
could  easily  imagine  the  strange  figure  fumbling  with 
bony  fingers  in  the  old  chest,  to  be  the  ghost  of  some  de- 
funct grandmother,  to  whom  all  this  moth-eaten  finery 
once  belonged,  and  whose  ruling  spirit,  strong  even  in  the 
grave,  prompted  to  return  at  the  dead  of  night,  and  mut- 
ter and  grin  over  its  long-lost  treasures.  Fanny  even 
fancied  herself  under  the  influence  of  some  horrid  dream, 
and  closed  her  eyes  to  shut  out  the  vision,  but  when  she 
opened  them,  there  it  was  again  as  vivid  as  before. 

At  length  loneliness  becoming  unendurable,  she  turned 
to  awaken  her  companion,  but  Miss  Nanny  slept  soundly, 
and  at  the  first  whisper,  the  old  woman  turned  so  sharply 
in  the  direction  from  which  it  came,  that  the  frightened 
girl  sank  back  on  the  pillow  and  did  not  raise  her  head 
till  all  was  quiet. 

When  she  ventured  to  look  again,  there  was  no  trace 
of  any  disturbance.  The  lid  of  the  chest  was  down,  the 
ghost  had  disappeared,  and  in  its  place  a  little  yellow- 
faced  old  woman,  in  a  broad  ruffled  night-cap  was  sleeping 
quietly  in  the  hed.  Fanny  was  too  weary  to  look  long, 
and  was  herseKsoon  fast  asleep. 

She  was  awakened  the  next  morning  by  the  sound  of 
the  horn,  blo'ni  a  little  after  daylight  to  call  up  the  serv- 
ants. In  lfo-3  twilight  of  a  rainy  morning,  the  low  room 
looked  even  less  cheerful  than  on  the  previous  evening, 
and  to  Fanny's  half  waking  gaze  every  thing  appeared  so 
strange  and  outlandish,  that  she  with  difficulty  collected 
her  scattered  senses  sufficiently  to  remember  where  she 
was,  or  how  she  came  there. 

The  black  woman  who  had  lain  all  night  before  the 
hearth,  was  also  awakened  by  the  summons,  and  after  a 


LIFE    IN    THE    BORDER    COUNTIES.  39 

great  number  of  yawns  and  stretches,  slowly  gathered 
herself  up,  and  tossing  her  bed  of  quilts  into  a  corner, 
proceeded  to  rake  open  the  coals  and  make  up  a  fire. 
This  proved  to  be  a  lengthy  proceeding,  for  the  logs  being 
freshly  cut,  and  the  pine  bark  wet  through  with  the  rain, 
they  both  required  a  deal  of  puffing  and  blowing  to  coax 
them  into  a  blaze.  They  yielded  at  last,  however,  and 
Viny,  who  for  ten  minutes  had  been  enveloped  in  a  cloud 
of  smoke  and  ashes,  suddenly  loomed  up  in  the  midst  of  a 
bright  blaze,  that  filled  the  room  with  its  cheerful  glow. 

"You  Viny,"  called  out  a  sharp  voice  at  the  foot  of  the 
Btairs,  "  fly  round  there,  and  get  the  girls  up ;  it 's  past 
six  o'clock." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Car'line,"  said  Viny,  and  snatching  up  the 
empty  bucket  and  balancing  it  on  her  head,  she  turned  a 
broad  good-natured  face  toward  the  sleepers,  and  pro- 
ceeded in  earnest  to  rouse  them  from  their  slumbers. 

"  Miss  Nanny,  Miss  'Ria,  you  all  get  right  up,  can't 
sleep  no  more  dis  mornin'.  Come,  scratch.  I  '11  be  back 
wid  de  water  'fore  you  half  out  ob  bed." 

This  was  said  with  a  laugh  at  the  end  of  every  sentence, 
and  after  lingering  long  enough  to  see  that  all  were  awake, 
black  Viny  disappeared  down  the  stairway. 

By  the  time  she  returned,  the  inmates  of  the  room  were 
huddled  round  the  fire,  dressing  with  all  the  speed  that 
limited  space  and  cold  fingers  would  allow,  and  she  was 
greeted  with  loud  calls  for  assistance  from  three  or  four 
different  persons  at  once.  Viny  did  the  best  she  could, 
flying  from  one  to  another,  hooking  Miss  Nanny's  dress, 
tying  'Ria's  hair,  and  hunting  up  Maud's  shoe-string, 
which  she  had  used  the  evening  previous  to  tie  two  of  the 
children's  heads  together,  and  which  was  finally  found  in 
the  slop-bucket,  where  one-  of  the  sufferers  had  thrown  it 
out  of  spite.  The  pleasant est  state  of  feeling  did  not 


40  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

exist  while  the  process  of  dressing  was  carried  on,  as  an 
occasional  push  and  some  angry  words  testified. 

"  I  declare,  'Ria,  I  '11  just  tell  ma  this  very  day  how  you 
carry  on,  takin'  up  all  my  room,  and  ramming  your  elbows 
out  both  sides.  I  will  so,"  said  little  Joy. 

"Children,  why  don't  you  stand  round  and  let  Miss 
Hunter  come  to  the  fire,"  said  Miss  Nanny,  who  herself 
occupied  a  goodly  space  in  the  corner. 

"  Lor,  Nan,  she  's  only  the  teacher,"  said  Joy,  in  a  whis- 
per, "  I  ain't  goin'  to  give  up  my  place  to  her." 

"  Hush,  Joy,  she  '11  hear  you." 

Fanny  did  hear,  and  the  words  brought  an  indignant 
flush  to  her  cheek.  No  one  observed  it,  however,  for  at 
that  instant  Martha  appeared  with  a  gourd-shell  in  her 
hand. 

"  Yonder's  Marthy  with  the  drink,"  cried  some  one, 
and  there  was  an  immediate  rush  toward  her. 

"  Give  it  here,  Marthy,  it 's  my  turn  this  morning,"  said 
Maria,  reaching  up  her  hand  for  the  cup. 

"  No  it  ain't,  Miss  'Ria,  you  all  quit  now,"  said  the  girl, 
holding  it  out  of  her  reach,  "  Miss  Car'line  say  the  new 
teacher  was  to  hab  it  fust  dis  mominV 

Maria  fell  back,  casting  a  sulky  glance  at  Fanny,  who 
was  struggling  to  subdue  the  feelings  Joy's  hasty  words 
had  excited. 

"  Not  any,  thank  you,"  she  said,  as  the  girl  offered 
the  cup. 

"  Why,  yes,  Miss  Hunter,  you  must  take  some  drink," 
eaid  Nanny  ;  "  we  all  do  here ;  there 's  nothing  like  it  to 
keep  off  the  chills." 

Thus  urged,  Fanny  swallowed  a  little  of  the  mixture, 
which  tasted  slightly  of  whisky  and  very  strongly  of 
brown  sugar.  The  gourd  was  then  passed  from  one  tc 
another,  all  drinking  with  a  relish,  and  little  Joy  smaefc 


LIFE    IN    THE    BORDER    COUNTIES.  41 

ing  her  lips  over  the  (trainings  in  the  bottom  of  the 
cup. 

"I'm  sure  I'll  be  glad  when  pa  comes  home,"  said 
Maria,  after  taking  her  portion,  "  if  it 's  only  to  mix  the 
drink.  Ma  is  so  scrimpin'  with  the  whisky." 

"  It  goes  fast  enough  though,"  said  Nanny.  "  A  barrel 
don't  appear  to  last  any  time  on  this  place.  Dave  deals 
it  out  to  the  field  hands  about  once  a  week." 

"  It 's  no  such  a  thing,  Nan,  they  have  n't  one  of  'em 
had  a  dram  since  the  corn-shucking." 

"  Yes  they  have,  Miss  'Ria ;  Big  William  came  up  to 
the  house  last  night,  and  got  one  for  toating  up  the  teach- 
er's trunk  from  Belcher's." 

"  Well,  s'pose  he  did,  one  dram  ain't  of  much  account, 
any  how." 

"They  all  count  up,  though,  'Ria." 

"  Now  just  to  hear  'em  run  on,"  said  Viny,  with  a 
giggle.  "  Miss  Nanny,  she 's  a  snug  one.  Lor,  when 
she  sets  up  for  her  sef,  dar  '11  be  mighty  tight  times,  I 
reckon." 

"Viny,  you  mind  yourself,"  said  Nanny;  "you  are 
gettin'  too  smart." 

"It's  so,  any  how,"  said  Maud.  "I  do  think  Nanny's 
too  awful  mean.  Aunt  Tibby  says,  when  she  gives  out 
breakfast,  there  ain't  lard  enough  to  stick  the  batter- 
bread  together." 

"  Shut  up,  Maud,"  said  her  sister ;  "  you  've  no  more 
respect  for  your  betters  than  Viny  there.  Com^  on 
down  to  breakfast,  all  of  you.  Miss  Hunter,  are  you 
n  acly  ?" 

In  the  room  below,  they  found  the  bed  made,  "the 
trumlle"  pushed  under,  the  hearth  swept,  and  the  cloth 
spread  for  breakfast.  Mrs.  Catlett  sat  by  the  fire  washing 
the  baby's  face  w'th  a  wet  cloth,  while  the  child,  in  a  dirtjr 


42  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

flannel  night-gown  and  black  silk  cap,  was  kicking  and 
screaming  in  her  arms.  Massa  Dave  made  an  awkward 
bow  to  the  new  teacher,  and  even  pushed  his  chair  a  little 
one  side  that  she  might  come  to  the  fire. 

"Mighty  polite,  Dave,  all  of  a  sudden,"  whispered 
Nanny,  as  they  gathered  round  the  table.  "I  reckon 
you  are  struck." 

The  young  gentleman  deigned  her  no  reply. 

"  David,  cut  a  thin  slice  of  bacon  for  Madam  Hester,5' 
said  Mrs.  Catlett,  "and  Marthy  hand  me  that  pone  of 
bread,  and  quit  rolling  your  eyes  all  over  the  room,  when 
they  ought  to  be  on  the  table.  Go  and  get  your  waiter 
and  carry  Madam  Hester's  breakfast  right  up  to  her." 

"  Is  Madam  Hester  sick  this  morning,"  inquired  Fanny, 
remembering  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  the  previous 
night. 

"  Oh,  no,  she  always  takes  her  breakfast  in  bed,"  said 
Mrs.  Catlett ;  "  she  don't  sleep  nights,  and — careful,  Mar- 
thy, you  '11  have  that  coffee  all  over  me,  yet — can't  you 
keep  your  eyes  on  what  you  are  about  ?  You  are  the 
most  careless  creature.  There,  now,  see  if  you  can  toat 
that  up  stairs  without  upsetting  it.  That  girl  ought  to 
understand  her  business ;  I  'm  sure  I  've  spent  time  enough 
teaching  her ;  but  I  think  sometimes  you  can't  learn  those 
creatures  any  thing." 

"  Who  goes  to  church  to-day  ?"  inquired  Nanny. 

"  Nobody  from  this  house,"  said  her  mother  sharply. 
**  It  will  rain  right  down  by  noon,  and  I  shan't  have  the 
children's  clothes  spoiled  by  being  out  in  it,  so  you  may 
just  make  up  your  minds  to  stay  at  home." 

"  Nanny  feels  bad  now,"  said  Maria,  "'cause  she  's  just 
gotten  her  new  coat  done  on  purpose  to  wear.  Ma,  you 
ought  to  let  her  go,  she  's  worked  so  hard  on  it." 

"Don't  you  fret,  'Ria,  the  new  coat's  of  no  account." 


LIFE    IN    THE    BORDER    COUNTIES.  43 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Maud,  in  a  whisper,  to  her  next 
neighbor.  "  I  hope  I  don't  want  to  go  to  church.  We  '11 
go  down  to  the  spring  and  ride  our  tree-horses,  won't  we 
Cal  ?" 

In  this  kind  of  talk,  breakfast  passed  off,  and  the  family 
all  left  the  table  except  Mrs.  Catlett,  who  remained  to 
give  the  house-servants  their  allowance.  These  came 
filing  in  one  after  another,  each  with  a  small  pewter 
trencher  in  her  hand,  which  she  laid  before  her  mistress, 
who  divided  the  fragments  of  the  meat  into  equal  por- 
tions, placing  one  upon  each  plate. 

"  Where  's  Aunt  Phebe's  trencher  this  morning?"  she 
said,  missing  one  from  the  row. 

"Miss  Maud's  gone  to  fetch  it,"  said  Viny.  "I  met 
her  on  de  way." 

"That  child  is  always  meddling  with  what  don't  con- 
cern her,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  cutting  a  piece  of  corn  bread 
in  two.  "  Why  could  n't  she  let  the  boy  toa't  it  up  as 
usual  ?" 

"  Don'  know,  Miss  Car'line ;  she  seem  in  a  mighty  big 
hurry." 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  the  child  who  had  re- 
plied so  ungraciously  to  Fanny  the  evening  before,  en- 
tered the  room.  Her  hair  was  hanging  about  her  ears, 
and  her  frock  was  wet  to  the  knees. 

"  Now,  ain't  you  a  sight  ?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.  "  There, 
go  right  to  the  fire  and  dry  yourself  this  minute.  You  '11 
have  a  chill  for  this  to-morrow,  as  like  as  not.  Who  told 
you  to  be  running  down  to  the  \vomen's  cabins  before 
breakfast,  anyhow  ?" 

"  I  want  Aunt  Phebe's  breakfast,"  said  Maud,  with  the 
most  unconcerned  air  in  the  world ;  "  and  here  's  a  cup 
for  some  coffee." 

"  She  can't  have  a  drop,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.     "  I  ain'l 


44  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

goin'  to  give  the  servants  coffee  every  day  or  two ;  we 
can't  afford  it ;  she  had  some  not  three  days  ago,  and 
she's  no  business  to  send  for  it  so  soon  again." 

'*  She  didn't  send  for  it,"  said  Maud ;  "  I  found  the  cup 
on  the  shelf,  and  brought  it  along.  Pa  said  we  were  to 
be  good  to  Aunt  Phebe."  She  laid  the  trencher  and  the 
little  tin  cup  upon  the  table,  and  turned  away  with  a 
quivering  lip. 

Mrs.  Catlett  looked  very  cross  as  she  proceeded  with 
her  task,  but  when,  a  few  moments  after,  Maud  took  the 
things  away,  the  cup  was  not  empty. 

"  Bring  in  your  tub,  Marthy,  and  wash  up  the  cups,'1 
said  Mrs.  Catlett ;  "  and  Viny,  hurry  your  breakfast,  and 
come  back  to  the  house.  I  can't  get  Aunt  Hester  up 
alone  every  morning  ;  that 's  a  settled  thing." 

She,  however,  proceeded  directly  up  stairs,  and  before 
Viny  returned  from  her  cabin,  came  down  again  support- 
ing the  old  woman  to  her  seat  in  the  corner. 

"  Now,  children,  you  pack  off  up  stairs ;  there 's  a 
good  fire  there,  and  Jinny  has  just  swept  up  the  floor.  I 
want  to  write  a  letter  this  morning,  and  there  's  no  living 
in  such  a  noise.  Come,  off  with  you ;  and  Tilla,  you  take 
the  baby  out  to  the  kitchen  awhile ;  don't  you  let  her 
walk  a  step  on  this  wet  ground,  neither ;  you  toat  her  aD 
the  way ;  do  you  hear  ?" 

The  person  last  addressed,  a  little  negro  girl  of  six  or 
seven  years,  who  was  tottering  across  the  room  under  the 
weight  of  a  child  nearly  as  heavy  as  herself,  set  down  her 
load  for  an  instant,  and  turned  a  weary,  old-looking  face 
toward  her  mistress. 

"  What's  the  child  staring  for,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  im- 
patiently. "  Are  you  deaf?  I  told  you  to  toat  Miss 
Hetty  out  to  the  kitchen,  and  there  you  stand  as  senseless 
*8  a  log.  Come,  off  with  you." 


LIFE     IN    THE     BORDER     COUNTIES.  45 

Miss  Hetty  enforced  her  mother's  commands  by  clam- 
bering upon  Tilla's  back,  and  seizing  fast  upon  her  woolly 
head,  she  b}  several  decided  twitches  gave  her  to  under- 
stand that  sht  was  anxious  to  proceed. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  as  the  little  bent  figure 
with  its  burden  disappeared  in  the  doorway,  "  you  heard 
what  I  said,  children,  go  on,  all  of  you.  Cal,  take  Johnny 
with  you,  I  can't  have  him  here." 

There  was  a  general  scattering,  the  children  making  a 
rush  for  the  stairway,  each  pushing  and  fighting  to  get 
there  first,  and  chasing  each  other  up  the  stairs  and 
through  the  room  above,  till  a  whole  shower  of  dried 
whitewash  rattled  down  from  the  rough  planks. 

"  0,  dear,  dear !  how  they  do  carry  on,"  said  Mrs.  Cat- 
lett. "Miss  Hunter,  I  hope  you  will  teach  'em  better 
manners.  Marthy,  go  up  and  tell  Miss  "Ria  to  keep  'em 
quiet,  and  then  bring  me  a  shovel  of  coals  and  my  pipe." 

With  this  never-failing  solace  of  all  her  troubles,  the 
lady  settled  herself  comfortably  in  the  corner.  Miss 
Nanny  threw  herself  down  in  the  cradle,  which,  in  Mrs. 
Catlett's  family,  was  an  article  of  furniture  by  no  means 
devoted  exclusively  to  the  baby's  use ;  and  Dave  saun- 
tered somewhere  out  of  doors.  Fanny  was  left  sitting 
alone  by  the  window,  and  finding  that  she  was  in  danger 
of  breaking  last  night's  resolution  by  falling  into  the  state 
of  mind  she  had  determined  to  avoid,  she  roused  herself 
and  looked  about  for  something  to  do. 

An  almanac  hanging  by  a  bit  of  twine  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  and  a  couple  of  last  week's  papers  lying  upon  the 
shelf,  appeared  to  be  all  the  reading-matter  that  the  room 
afforded,  and  as  Mrs.  Catlett  had  by  this  time  commenced 
her  letter,  and  Nanny  was  taking  a  nice  nap  in  the  cradle, 
there  seemed  little  hope  of  carrying  on  a  conversation  in 
either  quarter,  while  Madam  Hester,  with  the  cloak  drawn 


46  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

close  about  her,  bad  sunk  down  into  a  dreamy  anccnsciou* 
state,  from  which  nothing  could  arouse  her. 

Fanny  gazed  listlessly  upon  the  prospect  out  of  doors. 
The  rain  was  dripping  from  the  eaves  of  the  house,  and 
from  the  vine  over  the  porch,  while  a  gust  of  wind  now 
and  then  brought  a  shower  of  damp,  dead  leaves  to  the 
ground.  Little  puddles  of  water  were  standing  here  and 
there  in  the  yard,  where  the  pigs  had  rooted  beds  for 
themselves  in  the  black  "mould,  and  two  or  three  of  these 
animals,  disgusted  with  their  places  of  repose,  were  wan- 
dering about  the  premises,  giving  utterance  occasionally 
to  a  discontented  grunt.  The  prairie  beyond,  looked 
brown  and  withered,  and  the  clouds  hung  heavy  above. 
What  should  she  do  with  herself  this  long  rainy  day? 

An  answer  to  the  question  suggested  itself.  The  chil- 
dren were  amusing  themselves  in  the  room  above.  Ought 
she  not  to  be  with  them  ?  True,  her  duties  did  not  strictly 
commence  until  the  next  day,  and  inclination  whispered 
that  it  would  be  time  enough  then  to  begin  her  labors. 
On  the  other  hand,  something  might  be  gained  if  she 
could  become  a  little  acquainted  with  them ;  she  might 
obtain  some  influence  over  them  ;  as  yet  she  had  done 
nothing.  At  least  her  presence  would  prove  a  restraint, 
and  perhaps  prevent  any  open  violation  of  the  Sabbath. 
She  would  try  it,  so  walking  boldly  up  stairs,  she  pushed 
open  the  door  and  entered  the  room.  The  children  all 
looked  up,  and  it  was  evident  from  the  expression  of 
their  faces,  that  she  was  not  a  welcome  guest ;  but  this 
was  no  more  than  she  expected,  and  smiling  pleasantly 
in  answer  to  their  sour  looks,  she  sat  down  quietly  by 
the  fire. 

Maria,  Caroline,  and  Maud,  the  three  elder  children, 
were  seated  upon  the  table,  playing  a  game  with  marbles, 
the  skill  of  which  appeared  to  consist  in  dropping  one 


LIFE     I  N"     THE     BORDER     COUNTIES.  47 

with  suificient  force  and  accuracy  of  aim,  to  displace  sev- 
eral from  the  ring,  the  person  playing  pocketing  all  which 
she  thus  moved.  They  stopped  for  a  moment  ai*d  held 
a  consultation,  but  after  a  good  deal  of  whispering  and  a 
Lalf  audible  "  I  don't  care,  she  needn't  come,  then,"  from 
Jlaud,  they  went  on  with  their  game.  Meanwhile  the 
little  ones,  Joy  and  Johnny,  having  nothing  to  do  but 
lounge  about  the  table  and  watch  the  rest,  were  finding 
amusement  for  themselves  in  teasing  the  players,  snatch- 
ing their  marbles  and  making  off  with  them,  or  pinching 
their  toes  under  the  table.  Angry  exclamations  and  an 
occasional  kick  from  one  of  the  sufferers,  frightened  tbem 
into  good  behavior  for  a  few  moments,  but  they  soon  re- 
turned to  the  charge  with  renewed  vigor. 

At  last  Johnny  received  a  blow  from  some  unknown 
foot  that  sent  him  howling  to  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
und  Fanny  thinking  this  a  good  opportunity  to  try  her 
powers  of  amusing,  coaxed  him  to  her,  and  after  a  little 
pleasant  talk,  proposed  to  tell  him  a  story.  The  child 
looked  up  with  a  shy,  half  frightened  expression,  but  see- 
ing nothing  in  her  face  to  justify  his  fears,  he  allowed  her 
to  take  him  in  her  lap. 

Fanny  had  gained  quite  a  reputation  among  the  little 
folks  at  home,  by  her  skill  in  story-telling,  and  many  an 
evening  had  kept  the  undivided  attention  of  a  group  of 
listeners,  as  she  repeated  tale  after  tale  from  her  almost 
inexhaustible  stock.  Selecting  one  that  had  always  been 
popular,  she  commenced,  adapting  her  story  to  the  cap* 
cities  of  the  older  children,  though  it  was  simple  enough 
for  Johnny  to  comprehend. 

For  awhile  no  effect  was  produced  upon  the  players. 

The  game  progressed  steadily,  and  an  occasional  glance 

toward  the  fire  was  the  only  sign  given  that  they  heard 

^&ny  thing  but  the  rattling  of  the  marbles  on  the  table. 


48  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

Fawny  grew  excited.  Her  pride  was  roused,  and  she  do- 
termined  that  they  should  hear.  She  called  all  the  skill 
she  possessed  to  her  aid,  and  never  before  had  she  tried 
so  hard  to  make  a  tale  interesting.  Joy  and  Johnny,  with 
mouth  and  eyes  wide  "open,  were  staring  at  her  with  all 
their  might ;  but  the  game  continued.  At  length  there 
began  to  be  pauses.  Some  one  forgot  that  it  was  her  turn 
to  play,  or  with  marble  suspended  in  the  air,  waited  for 
the  conclusion  of  a  sentence  before  letting  it  drop.  Fanny 
went  on  with  renewed  courage.  The  marbles  dropped 
glower  and  slower,  and  finally  stopped  entirely ;  one,  and 
then  another  slipped  down  from  the  table,  until,  before 
the  story  was  completed,  not  a  sound  was  heard  but  her 
own  voice. 

This  was  excellent.  She  complied  at  once  with  their 
request  for  another  story,  and  still  another,  and  was  her- 
self as  eager  to  relate,  as  they  to  listen.  An  hour  slipped 
by  before  they  knew  it,  and  then  Fanny  rose,  and  refusing 
their  request  for  more,  left  the  room  as  quietly  as  she  had 
entered. 


CHAPTER   7. 

THH     UPPER     AND     THE     UNDER 

As  the  door  closed  behind  her,  the  children  gazed  in 
each  other's  faces  a  moment  without  speaking. 

"  She  ain't  so  bad,  after  all ;  is  she  ?"  said  Cal. 

"  I  like  her  a  heap  better  than  I  thought  I  should,"  said 
'Ria. 

"  I,  too,"  said  little  Joy. 

"  Did  n- 1  you  reckon  we  should  catch  it,  'Ria,  when  she 
found  us  playing  '  tumble  top  ?'  "  said  Cal. 

"  Lor',  no,  she  did  n't  seem  to  care  a  bit ;  she  just  walked 
iri  and  never  said  a  word." 

"I  know  it,  but  I  reckon  she  did  n't  like  it  for  all  that, 
'cause,  don't  you  know,  one  of  her  stories  was  about  a  girl 
that  never  played  Sundays.  Did  you  mind  that?" 

"  She  knows  a  heap  ;  don't  she,  Maud  ?"  said  little  Joy. 

"  No,"  said  Maud,  sullenly. 

"  Why,  Maud  Catlett,  I  'd  be  ashamed,"  said  'Ria ;  "  you 
know  she  knows  sights  and  sights  more  than  you  do." 

"  I  don't  car'.  If  you  all  want  to  be  kept  in  school 
these  pleasant  days,  I  don't ;  and  I  ain't  going  to  like  tho 
new  teacher  anyhow."  Maud  spoke  loud,  and  grew  quite 
rod  in  the  face. 

There  was  a  general  silence,  broken  by  little  Joy,  saying, 
"  Well,  I  do,  'cause  she  tells  such  pretty  stories ;  dou't 
she,  'Ria?" 

3 


60  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

But  her  sister  was  too  busy  at  the  window  to  reply. 

"  I  declare,"  she  said,  "  if  there  ain't  old  Miss  Gainby 
coming  up  the  lane  on  her  white  horse.  Now  won't  we 
have  fun,  listenin'  at  her  brag." 

"What  brings  her  here  this  rainy  day,  anyhow?"  said 
Cal. 

"  I  reckon  she 's  come  to  see  about  Boss  an'  Biny 
comin'  here  to  school  this  winter.  You  know  she  talked 
about  it  a  long  time  back." 

"Did  she?  Well  that's  it,  then.  There,  now,  she's 
gettin'  down ;  come  let 's  run  down  stairs,  while  ma  goes 
out  to  meet  her,  and  then  she  can't  send  us  back." 

The  guest  had  already  been  seen  from  the  window  be- 
low, and  by  the  time  the  children  found  their  way  down 
stairs,  Mrs.  Catlett  ushered  her  in.  She  was  a  tall,  spare 
woman,  as  hollow-chested  as  a  man,  with  coarse  features, 
and  a  red  face.  She  was  dressed  in  a  scanty,  home-made 
gingham,  with  a  turban  of  the  same  material,  covering  her 
gray  locks.  Throwing  off  her  sun-bonnet,  and  a  large 
cloak,  she  took  the  proffered  seat  before  the  fire,  and 
carefully  folding  back  her  dress,  extended  a  pair  of  feet  on 
the  hearth,  that  no  man  in  Missouri  would  have  felt 
ashamed  to  own. 

"  I  reckon  you  did  n't  look  for  company  to-day,  neigh- 
bor Catlett  ?"  she  said.  "  It  ain't  the  prettiest  day  to  be 
out,  neither,  but  I  had  a  little  business  matter  to  talk  over 
with  you,  so  I  told  Jerry  he  might  gear  up  old  White, 
and  I  'd  ride  along.  I  reckoned  you  'd  feel  kinder  lone- 
some, too,  with  the  squire  over  there  in  Kanzas.  Heered 
any  thing  from  him  ?" 

"Heard  anything?  No.  It's  hard  upon  six  weeks 
since  that  man  started  away,  and  not  a  blessed  thing  do  I 
know  about  him.  He  may  be  dead  and  buried  over 
there  among  them  wild  Indians,  for  all  I  know  I  declare 


THE  UPPER  AND  THE  UNDER  CRUST.    51 

I  wish  men  would  be  contented  to  stay  at  home  a  w«s*;k  at 
a  time.  It 's  always  gad,  gad,  with  'em.  I  should  think 
there  was  land  enough  in  Missouri,  and  good  land,  too, 
without  every  body's  chasing  over  to  Kanzas  after  more. 
I  know  one  thing,  it 's  hard  enough  to  keep  things  straight 
on  this  place,  niggers  and  all,  and  if  Jack  Catlett  thinks 
he  's  going  to  spend  half  his  time  over  there,  fussin'  over 
a  new  farm,  and  leave  me  to  worry  and  fret  over  things 
at  home,  he 's  mightily  mistaken ;  and  I  '11  let  him  know  it, 
too." 

"  Lor',  neighbor  Catlett,  he  ain't  agoin'  to  do  any  such 
thing.  He  ?s  only  gone  over  to  settle  on  a  claim.  Besides 
it 's  for  Dave,  ain't  it  ?" 

"  O,  I  know  he  says  so.  Great  times  for  Dave.  He 
thinks  he 's  a  grown  man,  sure,  with  his  farm  and  his  nig- 
gers ;  but  I  tell  you  he  needs  a  deal  of  looking  after  yet>v 
and  Mr.  Catlett  will  have  to  be  over  there  the  balance  of 
the  time,  keepin'  things  straight.  Besides,  they  say  there 's 
awful  times  just  now  with  the  new  settlers,  and  Dave  is  so 
hot-headed,  he  '11  be  getting  into  trouble  the  first  thing, 
and  get  his  head  broke  of  course.  O  dear !  I  do  nothing 
but  fret  about  that  boy  the  whole  time." 

"  The  more  fool  you.  The  boy 's  well  enough.  He 
won't  be  half  a  man  till  he  shoots  down  two  or  three  of 
them  sneakin'  abolitionists  over  there.  I  should  want 
him  to  fight  'em  if  I  was  you.  And  can't  you  see  what  a 
chance  there  is  for  a  young  fellow,  with  a  snug  bit  of  land 
and  a  few  niggers.  Why,  neighbor,  if  my  two  daughters 
was  sons — and  gracious  knows  I  wish  they  had  been — I  'd 
send  them  both  over  there  as  straight  as  a  gun — I  would 
so." 

"  Why  how  come  you  to  know  so  much  about  it,  any- 
how  ?" 

"  How  ?    Have  n't  I  been  to  take  a  look  myself.    Did 


62  WESTERX    BORDER     LIFE. 

you  reckon  I  was  goin'  to  wait  till  Squire  Catlett,  and  «Toe 
Turner,  and  all  the  smart  chaps  round  here,  had  picked 
out  the  best  claims.  No,  no,  I  wanted  a  dab  at  it  myself, 
so  o3*I  starts  two  months  ago,  and  I  and  old  White  makes 
a  tour  round  the  diggins.  Ha !  ha !  Some  of  them  wide- 
awake chaps  may  find  Marm  Gamby's  name  pinned  to  the 
post  before  'em,  if  she  is  a  woman.  Forehanded,  neigh- 
bor Catlett,  that's  my  way,  you  see." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  've  picked  out  a  claim 
there  a-ready,  Madam  Gamby  ?  What  on  earth  do  you 
mean  to  do  with  it  ?" 

"  Do  with  it  ?"  said  Madam  Gamby,  her  hard  eyes 
open  to  their  widest  extent.  "  Well,  if  that  ain't  a  ques- 
tion. Why,  work  it,  to  be  sure." 

"  As  if  you  had  n't  enough  on  your  hands  a'ready.  A 
widow  woman  like  you,  with  a  great  farm  to  manage 
here.  Why,  what  will  become  of  your  place,  and  your 
tribe  of  niggers  in  Missouri,  if  you  start  another  over  the 
border.  Madam  Gamby,  you  are  crazy." 

The  person  addressed  pushed  back  her  chair  from  the 
fire,  and  crossing  one  limb  over  the  other,  looked  up  with 
a  cunning  twinkle  in  her  gray  eyes. 

"  You  wait  awhile,  neighbor,"  she  said.  "  Did  you 
ever  know  me  start  a  thing  and  not  put  it  through? 
Come,  own  up,  now." 

"  O,  I  know  you  are  powerful  smart ;  but  I  can't  see 
yet  how  you  mean  to  manage.  I  don't  trouble  my  head 
much  about  law  matters,  but  I  've  heard  say  you  can't 
own  a  claim  over  there,  without  settling  down  on  it. 
Now  how  you  are  goin'  to  carry  on  your  place  here,  and 
live  over  in  Kanzas,  is  more  than  I  can  make  out," 

"  No  more  I  don't  mean  to  live  over  there,  neighbor. 
Don't  you  reckon  I  can  keep  two  or  three  niggers  ttiere 
just  to  see  to  things,  and  keep  off  other  people, 


THB  UPPER  AND  THE  UNDER  CRTST.    53 

over  myself  now  and  then  to  keep  'em  straight.  That's 
ray  plan." 

"  But  that  won't  be  according  to  law,  will  it  ?" 

44  My  gracious  !  Just  to  hear  the  woman  talk !  Fid- 
dle-stick's ends !  What  do  you  reckon  I  care  for  their 
laws.  We  make  our  own  laws  over  there ;  and  I  would 
like  to  see  the  fellow  that  disputes  mine.  Let  him  show 
himself,  that 's  all.  The  land's  mine,  and  I  '11  Stick  to  it, 
too,  if  I  have  to  fight  for  it  like  a  pirate.  Laws  be  hanged, 
I  say." 

44  Well,  you  talk  fierce  enough,  if  that 's  all,  and  you 
are  welcome  to  your  land  for  all  me.  I  'm  sure  what  we 
own  here,  keeps  me  frettin'  the  whole  time." 

44  He,  he,  he,"  laughed  the  old  woman  in  the  corner, 
suddenly  starting  up  in  her  chair.  "There  ain't  been 
such  a  gatherin'  these  twenty  years.  It  cost  a  power  o' 
money  to  get  up  that  weddinV 

44  What 's  the  woman  talking  about  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gamby 

44  Old  times,  old  times,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  in  a  low  voice. 
44  You  see  her  mind  's  always  runnin'  on  those  days." 

44  A  lavender  silk  gown  with  trimmins  so  wide,"  said 
the  old  woman,  measuring  in  the  air  with  her  skinny  fin- 
gers ;  44  real  point  lace,  too  ;  and  her  father  nothin'  but  a 
colonel — he,  he,  he — there  's  extravagance  for  you." 

44  Never  mind  her  talk,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett ;  "  she  often 
runs  on  that  way ;  .it  seems  like  she  acted  over  every  thing 
she  ever  did,  sittin'  there  in  her  chair.  It 's  real  grand 
sometimes,  to  hear  her  tell  about  the  great  dinners  and 
dances  they  used  to  have  when  her  grandfather  was  Gov- 
ernor Peters  of  Virginia." 

44  She  don't  look  much  like  goin'  to  such  things  now," 
said  Mrs.  Gamby,  glancing  at  the  palsied  old  creature, 
who,  with  a  feeble  laugh,  had  sunk  back  into  the  dreamy 
state  from  which  she  had  so  suddenly  awakened. 


64  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  You  spoke  about  frettin',"  said  Mrs.  Gamby ;  "  I  tefl 
yon,  neighbor  Catlett,  that  don't  work  at  all ;  least  ways 
with  niggers.  You  must  lay  down  the  law  to  'em,  and 
make  "em  keep  it.  That 's  been  my  way,  and  they  do  say 
it  works,  too." 

"  Well  you  've  got  the  strength  to  carry  it  out,  I  sup- 
pose ;  but,  with  my  poor  health,  I  have  to  manage  as  easy 
as  I  can.  Mr.  Catlett  always  said  I  let  my  women  run 
right  over  me ;  somehow  I  never  could  keep  'em  under. 
I  don't  believe  any  body  ever  had  such  a  hard  set  to  man- 
age ;  there  ain't  more  than  two  on  the  place  that  I  can 
trust  with  any  thing." 

"  Trust  a  nigger,  neighbor  Catlett !  That 's  a  good 
one  !  Of  course  you  can't  trust  'em.  Did  you  ever  come 
across  one  that  would  n't  cheat,  and  lie,  and  steal  when- 
ever he  got  a  chance  ?  Trust  'em,  indeed  !  I  would  n't 
trust  one  of  my  gang  with  a  sixpence.  No,  no,  you  must 
keep  your  eye  on  'em  ;  watch  'em  so  close  they  can't  draw 
a  long  breath  without  your  knowin'  it.  That 's  my  way." 

"  Some  folks  can  do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  with  a  sigh ; 
u  I  can't.  My  servants  always  did  have  the  upper  hand. 
I  've  told  Mr.  Catlett  many  a  time  that  I  was  more  of  a 
slave  than  any  one  of 'em." 

"Well,  you  see  it's  just  because  you  keep  frettin'  at 
'em  all  the  while.  They  see  how  they  can  pester  you, 
and  you  don't  give  'em  trainins  enough  to  scare  'em  into 
not  doin'  it.  Niggers  find  out  mighty  quick  when  they 
can  take  liberties.  Mine  never  step  over  the  line.  They 
find  me  up  to  'em,  you  see." 

"  There  ain't  many  such  managers  as  you.  It  don't 
appear  to  me  to  be  women's  business,  any  how.  It'  s  too 
hard  work." 

u  Well,  now,  neighbor  Catlett,  just  let  me  give  you  a 
little  of  my  experience  in  this  matter.  You  see,  wheo 


THE  UPPER  AND  THE  UNDER  CRUST.    55 

my  man  died,  twelve  years  ago,  we  owned  a  place  down 
in  Boone  county.  Well,  every  body  said  I  should  have  to 
sell  out  or  get  an  overseer ;  there  could  n't  no  woman 
manage  a  great  farm  with  fifteen  or  twenty  hands  to  work 
it.  Well,  I  thought  differently,  and  I  .reckoned  on  tryin' 
it  awhile,  any  how.  So  I  got  the  hands  together,  and  I 
talked  to  'em.  I  just  let  'em  understand  what  I  meant  to 
do.  If  any  of  'em  thought  they  was  goin'  to  get  along 
easier  with  a  woman  over  'em,  it 's  ray  opinion  they 
changed  their  minds  'fore  ever  I  got  through.  I  laid 
down  the  law,  and  how  I  was  goin'  to  carry  it  out,  and 
they  see  I  was  in  arnest,  too. 

u  Well,  I  begun  with  'em  that  very  day,  and  I  've 
kept  it  up  ever  since,  and  I  do  say,  you  won't  find  a  bet- 
ter trained  set  this  side  of  the  Mississippi.  I  never  had 
no  overseer.  I  've  gone  into  the  field  many  a  day,  and 
worked  alongside  of  'em,  and  every  man  hoed  his  row 
when  I  was  thai*.  I've  got  three  inches  more  home  made 
a  day  out  of  my  weavers  than  any  body  else  in  the  neigh- 
borhood ;  and  I  've  had  all  my  wool  picked  out  by  chil- 
dren under  ten  years.  Then  my  crop  of  tobacco  this  fall, 
why,  it  beats  yours  all  to  smash.  You  want  to  know 
why  ?" 

"  'Cause  she  worked  every  body  on  the  place  down  to 
skin  and  bone,"  whispered  Cal. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  continued  Mrs.  Gamby,  "  it 's  'cause  I 
watch  'em  so  close.  I  keep  right  round  after  'em ;  they 
work  smart,  'cause  they  never  know  but  that  I'm  some- 
where out  of  sight  lookin'  on,  and  they  don't  get  shet  ot 
me  after  work-hours  neither.  I  've  tracked  'em  off  to  the 
corn-field  many  a  moonlight  night,  and  crept  down  to  the 
quarters  in  my  stocking  feet,  to  peep  through  the  cracks, 
and  see  what  they  were  up  to ;  that 's  my  way  of  doiir 
things." 


5tf  WESTERN    BORDER    L1¥E. 

u  Don't  you  ever  feel  afraid  nights,  Madam  Gamby,  all 
aJone  there  ?"  inquired  Nanny. 

"Afraid!  What  should  I  be  afraid  of,  child?  Why, 
bless  you,  I  keep  a  loaded  gun  at  the  head  of  the  bed,  and 
I  'd  shoot  down  the  first  person  that  entered  my  premises 
just  as  quick  as  I'd  shoot  a  squirrel.  Let  'em  come,  if 
they  want  to,  that 's  all." 

"Well,  Madam  Gamby,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  "you  may 
talk  as  much  as  you  please,  but  it  is  n't  such  an  easy  thing 
to  keep  matters  straight  on  a  place  like  this.  If  ever  Mr. 
Catlett  gets  home  alive,  I  shan't  give  my  consent  to  his 
goin'  oif  again.  I'm  just  wearing  myself  out  here,  and 
things  goin'  to  waste  as  fast  as  they  can  go." 

"  Why,  what 's  come  over  you,  neighbor  Catlett  ?  5Tou 
are  as  blue  as  my  checked  apron.  There's  Dave,  now, 
he  's  got  to  be  'most  a  man  ;  can't  you  fall  back  on  him  ?" 

"  Dave  's  of  no  account,  Mrs.  Gamby.  He  's  as  easy  as 
an  old  shoe  ;  lets  every  thing  go  at  loose  ends  when  he  's 
here,  but  wants  to  be  off  hunting  or  down  to  the  store 
half  the  time.  He  leaves  me  with  the  care  of  the  field 
hands  and  the  house  servants  altogether." 

"  Well,  boys  will  be  boys.  Just  wait  till  he  has  his  own 
bread  and  bacon  to  get,  and  I  '11  warrant  you  he  '11  steady 
down.  It  brings  young  sprigs  to,  about  as  quick  as  any 
thing." 

"  I  hope  it  will,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  with  a  sigh. 
14  You  are  going  to  set  up  school  to-morrow,  I  hear  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Gamby  ;  "  is  this  the  teacher  ?" 

She  turned  round  square  upon  Fanny  as  she  spoke,  sur- 
veying her  from  head  to  foot  with  a  broad  stare. 

The  teacher  bowed,  for  the  question  seemed  addressed 
to  her. 

"  Well,  you  look  kinder  young.  Have  you  had  any 
experience  ?" 


THE  UPPER  AND  THE  UNDER  CRUST.   57 

"  I  have  never  taught  before,"  said  Fanny,  quietly. 

"  No !  Well,  do  you  reckon  you  know  enough  ? 
Where  did  you  get  your  learnin'  ?" 

**  I  graduated  two  years  ago  at Seminary,  Mrs. 

Gamby,  and  if  I  am  not  competent  to  teach,  it  is  for  no 
ack  of  the  best  advantages." 

"  Lor',  you  need  n't  look  so  red  about  it.  I  reckon 
I  've  a  right  to  ask  a  question  or  two.  I  came  over,  neigh- 
bor Catlett,"  she  said,  to  Fanny's  great  relief  turning 
again  to  that  lady, ;c  to  make  a  bargain  with  you  for  my 
gals  this  winter.  You  spoke  about  wan  tin'  two  or  three 
day  scholars,  did  n't  you  ?"  , 

"  Boarders,  you  mean,  Madam  Gamby.  Of  course  you 
wouldn't  think  of  their  living  at  home  this  winter?" 

"  Of  course  I  should,  neighbor  Catlett.  What's  to 
hinder  ?" 

"  What 's  to  hinder  ?  Why  the  bother  of  getting  here 
every  morning  at  nine  o'clock,  and  ridin' three  miles  home 
every  night." 

"Bless  you,  that's  nothing  ;  a  little  exercise  will  do  'em 
good." 

"  But  you  can't  do  it.  Don't  you  see,  these  short  day& 
they  wouldn't  begin  to  get  home  before  night,  and 
you  'd  find  it  a  task  to  get  'em  here  by  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning." 

"  Why,  mercy  on  me,  neighbor  Catlett,  my  women  do 
three  hours'  work  before  that  time  o'  day.  Don't  you 
fret,  I  '11  have  'em  here  bright  and  early  in  the  morning, 
and  safe  home  at  night." 

"  But  you  '11  have  to  send  a  servant  for  'em.  It  ain't 
fcafe  for  children  to  be  ridin'  through  the  woods  after  night, 
anyhow.  Why  can't  you  let  'em  stay  here  ?  They  can 
go  home  Friday  nights,  you  see,  and  stay  till  the  next 
Monday." 


58  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

"  'Cause  there's  no  use  in  payin'  out  board  for  'em 
miles  from  home,  where  victuals  are  of  no  account  any- 
how. That 's  why.  Then,  as  to  sendin'  a  servant,  I  shan't 
do  any  such  thing.  My  young  ones  are  too  much  like  me 
to  be  scared  at  a  little  dark.  Jerry  will  gear  up  the  old 
larne  mare  for  'em,  and  one  of  your  boys  can  turn  her  out 
on  the  prairie  till  night.  That's  the  way  I  should  fix  it, 
so  if  you  are  a  mind  to  take  the  two,  we  '11  settle  on  the 
terms." 

"  But  I  have  n't  a  mind,  Madam  Gamby.  We  about 
made  up  our  minds  not  to  take  any  day  scholars.  They 
are  always  runnin'  in  and  out  of  the  house  with  the  other 
children,  and  make  a  heap  of  trouble,  and  don't  pay 
enough  to  make  it  an  object." 

"  I  did  n't  know  you  reckoned  on  making  money  out  of 
your  school,"  said  Madam  Gamby,  tartly. 

"  No  more  we  don't,  but  we  don't  want  to  lose  money 
on  it,  do  we  ?" 

"  If  I  pay  you  all  you  ask  for  the  schoolin',  I  can't  see 
now  you  '11  lose  any  thing :  but  there  's  no  use  in  talking 
about  it ;  as  to  payin'  out  money  for  board  when  we  raise 
every  thing  on  the  place,  and  victuals  are  of  no  account, 
I  won't  do  it,  that's  flat.  If  you  have  a  mind  to  take  'em 
for  day  scholars,  well  and  good,  I  '11  send  'em  along :  if 
not,  they  can  stay  at  home.  They  '11  have  as  much  larnin' 
as  their  mammy,  anyhow." 

"  Well,  Madam  Gamby,  we  won't  get  riled  about  it.  I 
see  Marthy  's  bringing  in  dinner,  so  we  '11  eat  and  talk  it 
over  afterward." 

The  subject  was  brought  up  again  after  dinner,  and  be- 
fore Mrs.  Gamby  left  she  had  carried  the  day. 

"It's  too  awful  mean,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  after  her 
visitor  had  gone ;  "  any  body  as  well  oif  as  she  is  to  grudge 
her  young  ones  board !  But  I  'm  glad  she 's  gone  off  in  a 


THE  UPPER  AND  THE  UNDER  CKUST*   59 

good  humor;  I  would  n't  have  her  mad  with  me  for  all  the 
world.  Miss  Hunter,  I  hope  you  '11  be  careful  and  keep 
m  with  the  children.  They  say  she's  an  a  vful  crittur 
when  she  has  a  spite  against  any  body.  Now  we  want 
about  three  more  scholars,  and  then  we  are  fixed.5' 

Fanny  was  somewhat  surprised  to  learn  from  all  this, 
that  her  school  could  be  increased  in  number  to  any  ex- 
tent that  her  employers  wished,  without  a  corresponding 
increase  of  salary ;  but  thinking  that  in  this  thinly-settled 
neighborhood  she  was  not  likely  to  be  overrun  with  pupils, 
the  circumstance  occasioned  her  little  uneasiness. 

About  an  hour  after  Madam  Gamby  left,  there  was  a  low 
knock  at  the  door,  and  on  Dave's  opening  it,  there  stalked 
into  the  room  a  tall,  gaunt  man,  with  an  unshorn  face,  and 
dressed  in  clothes  that  hung  in  rags  at  his  elbows  and  at 
the  tops  of  his  heavy  boots.  He  bowed  awkwardly  to 
Mrs.  Catiett  as  he  entered,  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  twirling  his  hat,  with  a  half  proud,  half-sheepish  ex- 
pression upon  his  sallow  face. 

"  Poor  white  folks,"  whispered  Cal. 

The  man  turned  sharply  round,  with  a  look  that  caused 
the  child  to  sink  back  in  the  corner. 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Jenkins,"  said  Mrs.  Oatlett,  coldly. 
"  Marthy,  why  don't  you  set  a  chair  for  Mr.  Jenkins  ?" 

The  girl  slowly  advanced  and  pushed  a  chair  to  the 
stranger,  making  faces  at  him  slyly  for  the  children's 
amusement. 

Dave  had  resumed  his  paper,  and  Mrs.  Catiett  showed 
no  disposition  to  open  a  conversation,  so  that  after  shifting 
uneasily  about  in  his  chair  for  a  moment,  the  man  himself 
began, 

"  You  are  goin'  to  set  up  a  school  here,  they  say.'* 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Catiett;  "we  have  a  teacher  en- 
gaged." 


60  WES  TEK^    BORDER    LIFE. 

"And  you  wanted  to  take  in  a  few  scholars,  didn't 
you  ?" 

"  We  tall  ed  of  it,"  said  the  lady,  coldly. 

"  Well,  1  've  got  a  little  gal,"  said  the  man,  speaking 
rapidly  and  with  his  eyp.s  fastened  upon  the  floor.  "  I 
wanted  to  give  her  a  schoolin',  and  the  oid  woman  reck- 
oned you  would  be  willin'  to  take  her  six  months  or  so. 
I  thought  I  'd  come  over  and  see  you  about  it." 

Dave  looked  up  from  his  paper  with  a  rude  stare,  while 
Mrs.  Catlett  seemed  speechless  with  astonishment. 

"  You  see  I  would  n't  have  come  to  you,"  said  the  man, 
in  a  half  proud,  half  cringing  manner,  "  seein'  that  such  as 
you,  don't  like  poor  folks'  children  over  and  above,  but 
there  ain't  another  school  short  of  eight  miles,  and  I  can't 
seem  to  feel  easy  with  the  gal — she  's  the  only  one  we  've 
got — growin'  up  without  a  bit  of  larnin'.  If  you  could 
take  her — " 

"We've  about  made  up  our  number,  Mr.  Jenkins," 
said  Mrs.  Catlett. 

"  Mebbe  one  would  n't  make  much  odds,"  he  continued, 
trying  to  speak  carelessly,  though  his  voice  shook  a  little. 
"  The  gal's  a  quiet  gal,  and  the  old  woman  will  make  her 
decent  for  clothes.  She  won't  make  you  a  speck  of  trou- 
ble. We  are  poor" — a  flush  rose  to  his  sallow  cheek — 
46  but  tli ere  can't  nobody  say  a  word  agin  our  honesty. 
We—" 

"  Twelve  on  'em  in  the  family,"  said  the  old  woman  in 
the  corner ;  *'  twelve  in  the  family,  and  every  soul  on  'em 
died  in  the  poor  house.  The  miserablist,  idlist  set  you 
ever  did  see." 

The  man  turned  fiercely  round,  but  she  had  sunk  back 
in  her  chair,  muttering  unintelligibly  to  herself. 

"  Mr.  Jenkins,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  in  a  freezing  tone, 
"  I  should  be  glad  to  do  you  a  favor,  but  the  fact  is,  we 


THE  UPPER  AND  THE  UNDER  CRUST.   61 

don't  want  any  more  scholars.     We  need  all  the  teacher's 
time  for  our  own  children." 

"  And  ain't  there  other  folks  that  want  their  children 
to  know  something,  but  you  ?"  said  the  man,  fiercely. 
"  What 's  to  become  of  the  brats  round  here,  growin'  up 
like  the  very  pigs  ?"  then  suddenly  checking  himself,  he 
continued  in  a  milder  tone;  "you  mustn't  mind  me, 
inarm ;  I  get  most  crazy  times,  thinkin'  about  it.  But 
jest  put  yourself  in  my  place,  Miss  Catlett.  S'pose  it  was 
your  child  a-growin'  up  so.  My  old  woman  at  home  loves 
that  gal  as  well  as  you  love  yours ;  mebbe  a  trifle  better, 
for  it 's  all  she's  got.  You  are  a  woman,  now  just  think 
of  it;  and  how  can  I  go  back  and  tell  her  there  ain't  any 
chance  ?  If  you  could  give  her  one  hour  a  day,  that  ain't 
much ;  only  one  hour ;  it  would  be  a  heap  better  than 
none  to  us.  Mebbe  you  '11  think  of  it." 

"  Mrs.  Catlett,"  said  Fanny,  leaning  over  the  lady's 
chair,  "  I  will  teach  his  little  girl  an  hour  out  of  school, 
if  you  are  willing." 

"  The  Lord  bless  you,"  said  the  man,  whose  eager  ears 
had  caught  the  words,  softly  as  they  were  spoken. 

"  Nonsense,  Miss  Hunter,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.  "  You 
know  nothing  about  it.  It 's  entirely  impossible" — then 
turning  to  the  man,  she  said,  angrily,  "I've  told  you 
once,  Mr.  Jenkins,  that  we  can  not  take  your  girl;  if  once 
isn't  enough,  I  tell  you  so  again.  I  'm  not  likely  to 
change  my  mind  for  any  thing  you  can  say." 

His  sallow  face  grew  a  shade  paler,  and  rising  from  the 
cringing  posture  he  had  assumed  during  the  conversation 
he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  and  bowing  as  dis- 
tantly as  the  lady  herself,  left  the  room,  the  children  mim- 
icking his  shuffling  gait,  and  whispering  each  other  to  look 
at  his  ragged  elbows. 

"  Well,  I  'm  beat  this  time,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  as  the 


62  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

door  closed  behind  him.  "  If  any  body  had  told  me  that 
man  would  dare  to  come  on  such  an  errand,  I  should  have 
laughed  in  their  face.  I  never  was  so  taken  aback  in  my 
life." 

"  O,  there  's  no  end  to  such  people's  assurance,  ma," 
aaid  Nanny.  "They  think  they  are  as  crank  as  any  body." 

"My  goodness!"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  "to  think  of  my 
takin'  his  brat  to  keep  company  with  my  children." 

"  If  I  'd  been  in  Dave's  place,  I  'd  have  cracked  him 
over,"  said  little  Johnny. 

"  Shut  up,  Johnny ;  you  are  gettin'  too  smart.  Ma, 
did  you  see  how  those  children  behaved.  You  ought  to 
take  'em  down  a  peg,"  said  Nanny. 

"Don't  tell  me  any  thing  about  it,  Nan,  I  see  enough. 
If  it  had  been  any  body  but  Tim  Jenkins,  I  should  have 
felt  ashamed  of  their  tantrums." 

"Why,  ma,  we  behaved  beautiful,"  said  Cal.  "I'm 
sure  I  did  n't  so  much  as  crack  a  smile,  for  all  he  came 
shambling  in  so  funny." 

"  You  better  talk !"  said  Maria.  "  You  sauced  him  right 
to  his  face." 

"I  didn't  either,  Miss  'Ria.  I  just  giv  him  his  title, 
that 's  all." 

"  You  ought  to  have  seen  Cal  when  he  glared  round  at 
her,"  said  Dave,  laughing.  "  She  looked  like  I  've  seen  a 
rabbit,  when  you  first  scare  'em  up  :  all  eyes." 

"I  thought  she  'd  pitch  me  over,  sure,"  said  little  Joy, 
"  she  was  so  fierce  to  get  back  in  the  corner." 

"  I  don't  car',"  said  Maud,  "  I  wish  his  girl  could  go  tu 
school,  if  she  wants  to  so  bad.  I  'm  sure  she  might  go  in 
my  place  and  welcome." 

"  Maud  Catlett,"  said  her  mother,  "  don't  you  ever  let 
me  hear  you  say  that  again.  I  don't  want  iny  children 
to  have  any  sympathy  with  those  low  people." 


THE  UPPER  AND  THE  UNDER  CRUST.    63 

"  I  don't  car',"  said  Maud  again  ;  "  I  felt  mighty  sorry 
for  him." 

"  Miss  Hunter,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  when  the  children 
had  gone  up  stairs,  "I  hope  you'll  be  careful  how  you 
treat  those  low  people  like  Tim  Jenkins.  When  you  've 
been  here  a  little  longer,  you  '11  see  it  is  n't  best  to  make 
any  .such  offers  as  you  did  just  now." 

41  What  have  they  done  so  bad,  Mrs.  Catlett?"  inquired 
Fanny. 

"  What  have  they  done  ?  Why  they  are  poor,  shi&leaa, 
no  account,  white  folks." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE     CLAIM     DISPUTED. 

"  HOLLOA,  Tom,  where  in  thunder  is  that  plaguy  tree 
you  nailed  Jack  Catlett's  manifesto  to  ?  Hang  me  if  I 
did  n't  think  this  was  the  very  one.  Come,  my  boy,  look 
about  you,  and  find  your  hand-writing,  do  you  hear  ?" 

"  That 's  it,  squire  ;  that  big  oak  yonder ;  if  it  ain't,  set 
Turner  down  for  a  man  without  eyes  in  his  head.  Well, 
that  is  curis,  though.  What  on  earth  has  become  of  the 
thing  ?  Look  here,  Catlett,  some  rascally  abolition  dog 
has  torn  it  down,  as  sure  as  you  are  a  born  sinner." 

"  That 's  so,  anyhow,  for  here's  the  bits  scattered  on 
the  grass.  Let 's  see,"  says  Tom,  dismounting ;  "  I  vow 
here  's  the  whole  word,  '  Jack,'  on  this  very  first  scrap, 
just  as  I  wrote  it.  Here 's  a  chance  for  a  little  fun  now ! 
We  have  got  to  shoot  some  half  a  dozen  free  soil  scoun- 
drels before  you  can  own  this  land,  squire,  that 's  clear. 
And  here  's  the  fellow  that  will  pitch  into  'em  the  worst 
way.  Gad !  I  '11  be  mighty  glad  to  come  across  some- 
thing to  stir  up  my  blood  a  little.  I  'd  just  as  soon  shoot 
on  a  of  them  blasted  Yankees  as  I  would  a  squirrel,  and  a 
great  deal  druther." 

"  Where  are  the  villains  ?  Who  '11  scare  'em  up  ?  Just 
let  'em  show  themselves,  that 's  all.  This  old  rifle  has  n't 
done  much  on  Kanzas  ground  since  we  started.  Let  me 
just  see  the  white  of  an  abolition  eye,  and  I  '11  send  a 


THE    CLAIM     DISPUTED.  65 

bullet  through  it  co-chug.  Miserable,  vile,  murderous 
outlaws!  We'll  teach  'em  to  respect  a  true  Southern 
gentleman,  with  the  last  relic  of  old  Governor  Peters,  of 
Virginia,  in  his  house.  Tear  down  Jack  Catlett's  name ! 
Audacious  villains !  Turner,  Tom,  our  altars,  our  firesides, 
our  sacred  honors  are  endangered.  Shall  we  submit 
tamely  to  such  unpardonable  insolence  ?" 

"  Jimminy !  there  's  eloquence  for  you.  I  say,  squire, 
what  a  tall  one  you'd  make  at  stump-speaking.  We 
ought  to  have  him  up,  Tom,  at  the  next  election." 

Our  three  neighbors  with  whom  this  tale  opened,  had 
accomplished  their  reconnoitering  tour,  selected  claims 
here  and  there  with  Catlett's  and  Turner's  names  nailed 
to  at  least  fifty  different  trees,  and  returning,  had  now 
arrived  at  the  identical  spot  where  the  conversation  oc- 
curred, so  faithfully  chronicled  in  the  first  chapter.  This 
claim  of  Catlett's,  out  of  the  whole  number  which  these 
two  worthies  greedily  hoped  to  secure  somehow,  by  hook 
or  by  crook,  to  them  and  their  heirs  forever,  is  the  only 
one  which  concerns  our  history.  We  shall,  therefore, 
dismiss  the  others  without  another  word.  Perhaps  some 
other  chronicler  may  hand  them  down  to  fame.  On  ar- 
riving at  this  spot,  Catlett  was  the  first  to  discover  that 
his  claim  in  writing  was  not  where  he  supposed  Tom 
Walton  had  nailed  it;  Turner,  to  conjecture  that  it  had 
been  torn  down  "  maliciously  and  by  instigation  of  the 
devil,"  by  some  hot-headed  abolitionist,  and  Tom,  to  dem- 
onstrate that  by  some  hands  it  had  been  torn  in  pieces 
and  scattered  to  the  winds. 

Words  can  not  do  justice  to  the  torrent  of  indignation 
which  poured  forth  in  the  expression,  and  overflowed  in 
oaths  under  the  clear  sky  of  Kanzas,  upon  that  sublime 
occasion.  We  have  only  attempted  to  record  the  conver- 
Ration  up  to  the  time  when,  upon  the  discovery,  the  scald 


66  w    '.STERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

ing  sire**  "•*" '  lolence  began  to  flow,  omitting,  we  must 
confer  M  n  ^  bs  with  which  even  then  it  was  garnished. 
Our  p'ML  L'/i  a  pertinacious  reluctance  to  give  to  profane 
\vor<J?  a  permanency  in  our  history,  and  so,  for  the  sake 
of  L.imanity,  we  thus  far  diverge  from  the  utmost  exact- 
ncKfj.  For  at  least  fifteen  minutes  these  worthies  amused 
themselves  with  darting  out  the  forked  lightning  of  theii 
words  into  the  balmy  air  of  these  new  lands,  which,  in 
their  unoccupied  security  had  heretofore  escaped  such  a 
deadly  malaria.  Three  snakes  stirred  up  by  the  keeper's 
long  pole  in  a  menagerie,  is  the  most  like  to  them  of  any 
thing  which  now  occurs  to  us. 

We  resume  our  narrative  at  a  point  of  time  when  their 
fury,  having  become  somewhat  exhausted  by  its  own  vio- 
lence, was  still  more  chastened  by  the  appearance  upon 
the  scene  of  an  opponent  of  no  mean  proportions,  with 
rifle  and  cartridge-box,  writh  a  boy  of  some  fourteen  sum 
niers  by  his  side,  armed  also  with  a  revolver  and  bowie 
knife,  seemingly  ready  and  able  to  rebuke  and  punish  the 
intolerable  insolence  of  three  windy,  noisy,  braggadocio 
cowards.  Making  their  appearance  fro-m  the  little  patch 
of  trees  on  the  right,  the  two  walked  leisurely  toward  our 
party,  apparently  in  no  way  discomposed  by  their  loud 
words  and  swaggering  mien. 

"  Here,  you  vile  son  of  perdition,"  cried  out  the  beau 
Tom  Walton,  who  first  descried  them,  his  horse  being  in 
advance,  as  always,  of  the  others,  "  can  you  tell  us  wbo 
tore  down  the  claim  of  Squire  Catlett  to  these  acres,  fast- 
ened to  yonder  tree  in  my  hand-writing  ?  We  want  to 
find  the  dog,  and  hang  him  to  the  first  tree  for  his  in- 
solence." 

"  You  do.  Well,  Sir  Ruffle-shirt,  let 's  see  you  about  it 
I  am  the  man." 

"  Whs  t  's  that  ?  you  the  rascal  ?    Here,  Catlett,  Turner, 


THE    CLAIM    DISPUTED.  07 

do  you  hear  what  the  villain  says  ?"  and  then  looking  ovet 
his  shoulder  and  perceiving  his  companions  close  at  hand, 
the  young  gentleman  went  on  with  renewed  energy. 
"  You  scamp,  you  infernal  Yankee,  hanging's  too  good 
for  you.  We  '11  cut  you  in  inch  pieces,  we  '11  roast  you 
alive,  you  audacious  churl.  Did  you  know  who  Jack  Cat- 
lett,  Esq.,  of  La  Belle  Prairie  is  ?  How  dare  you  lay  your 
nasty  fingers  upon  such  a  name.  You  free  soil  abolition 
devili  We'll  make  daylight  shine  through  you  thia 
minute." 

Upon  this  Tom  aimed  his  gun,  but  upon  casting  his  eye 
across  the  piece,  suddenly  discovered  a  revolver  aimed  at 
his  own  breast.  He  lowered  his  weapon,  bawling  out, 

"  Is  that  your  brat  yonder  ?  If  it  was  n't  for  shooting 
him,  too,  you  would  be  a  dead  man  before  this." 

"  Had  you  shot  my  father,  I  would  have  shot  you  in 
double  quick  time,"  said  the  boy;  "I've  practiced  on 
turkey-buzzards  before  now." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Zi,"  said  his  father.  "  Come, 
come,  gentlemen,  be  cool  now,  and  let 's  talk  a  little  ra- 
tional. You  can't  frighten  me ;  and  as  for  a  real  fight,  1 
and  my  boy  could  whip  twice  as  many  such  as  you.  So 
my  advice  is,  keep  perfectly  quiet,  and  let 's  talk  the  mat- 
ter over  as  it  lies.  You  see  I  am  the  rightful  claimant  to 
these  lands,  having  squatted  here  for  the  last  six  months, 
and  built  a  cabin  hard  by.  Coming  out  the  other  day 
with  my  boy,  I  saw  the  notice  you  speak  of,  and  of  course 
I  tore  it  down,  and  you  would  have  done  just  so." 

"  Would  I  ?  you  low-lived  scamp.  What  right  have 
you  to  know  what  I  would  do  ?  Blast  you !  there 's  some 
difference  between  a  Virginia  gentleman  and  a  wooden- 
headed  Yankee,  let  me  tell  you.  You  talk  like  a  man  to 
his  equals.  Just  think,  Turner,  of  Tim  Jenkins  talking 
that  way.  We  teach  4  poor  white  trash'  manners  over 


68  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

the  borders ;  hey,  Turner  ?  I  tell  you  it 's  none  of  yoa. 
business  what  I  'd  do,  so  hold  your  yop,  you  cur,  upon 
that  pint.  All  you  've  got  to  do  is  to  hurry  up  your 
cakes,  and  promise  to  clear  these  diggins  in  less  than  no 
time.  Do  you  hear  ?" 

"  Squire,  I  ain't  a  man  of  many  words  ;  I  don't  take  it 
all  out  in  talking  like  some  folks,  but  just  let  me  tell  you 
one  thing,  if  you  can't  talk  to  me  as  an  equal,  you  can't 
talk  at  all.  I  am  your  equal  or  any  three  like  you,  as  I  '11 
show  you  when  the  scratch  comes.  I  'm  no  Tim  Jenkins, 
thank  heaven,  bowed  down  by  your  cursed  slavery  over 
the  border,  but  a  free-born  Yankee !  on  free  soil  yet, 
and  on  my  own  rightful  soil,  too.  You  ain't  lording  it  over 
one  of  your  niggers  now,  whom  you  can  haul  up  to  the 
whip  when  you  please.  No,  sirvee.  You  've  got  the  wrong 
pig  by  the  ear  this  time.  I  shan't  leave  this  claim,  which 
is  justly  mine  by  possession,  for  you,  or  a  dozen  like  you. 
If  you  want  to  try  the  fun  of  a  fight,  here  's  at  you.  So 
mind  your  eyes,  squire,  that 's  all  I  have  to  say." 

"  Look  here,  now,  you  consummate  fool !"  interrupted 
the  beau,  uyou  talk  about  reason,  will  you  hear  to  it? 
Who  gives  you  a  right  here  ?  Our  claim  is  by  Uncle 
Sam's  law." 

"  No  it  ain't.  There 's  no  law  yet  about  these  new 
lands,  ruffle-shirt !  You  can't  come  it  over  this  child  that 
way,  no^ow.  I  've  got  friends,  who  've  promised  to  write 
the  first  mail." 

"  He !  he  !  he !"  roared  the  chorus,  and  Tom  cried  out, 
"You  fool,  you!  did  you  ever  hearn  tell  of  the  telegraph, 
which  gives  word  in  less  than  no  time.  We,  on  the  bor- 
ders, have  got  the  news  fust,  and  we  are  here  according 
to  law.  So  just  quit,  or  we  '11  oust  you.  Uncle  Sam  backs 
us." 

"  I  know  Uncle  Sam  as  well  as  you,  you  miserable  squirt 


THE     CLAIM     DISPUTED.  69 

lived  in  his  diggins  full  as  long,  I  guess.  And  1  know  he 
ain't  such  a  pesky  fool  as  to  give  you,  lazy,  good-for- 
nothing  coots,  the  right  to  drive  us,  working  fellows,  right 
square  off  our  claims.  Uncle  Sam  likes  folks  on  his  farm 
that  will  work,  and  he  '11  hold  to  'em,  too.  No,  no, 
stranger,  try  again  ;  you  don't  come  it  that  way.*' 

"  It 's  so,  though,  and  no  mistake ;  and  if  you  've  got  a 
grain  of  sense  in  your  old  carcase,  you  '11  give  up  peace- 
ably, or  as  sure  as  my  name  's  Torn  Walton,  we  '11  tie  you 
up  to  yonder  tree,  and  whip  you  like  a  nigger,  as  you 
are.  Hang  it  If  Uncle  Tim  ain't  a  heap  smarter  than  you, 
you  abolition  cuss." 

"  Now,  ruffle-shirt,  if  you  don't  want  to  get  particular 
fits,  just  take  back  what  you  said  about  my  being  a  nigger, 
or  I'll  haul  you  off  your  horse,  and  shake  you  till  there  's 
nothing  left  of  you.  Very  well,  sir ;  you  won't  do  it ; 
boy,  take  aim  now.  Hit  the  squire's  hat  first  if  he  shows 
fight ;  don't  want  to  kill  'em,  but  can't  waste  no  more 
words." 

So  saying  the  Yankee  made  up  to  our  dandy  Tom, 
and  seizing  him  by  his  shirt  and  jewelry,  tumbled  him  in 
the  dust,  where  he  rolled  him,  and  rolled  him,  and  rolled 
him,  till  he  was  tired ;  while  the  boy,  obedient  to  his  sire, 
had  whizzed  a  bullet  through  the  hat  of  the  redoubtable 
squire,  which  setting  all  his  bones  in  a  shivjer,  he  and  Tur- 
ner both  put  spurs  to  their  horses,  leaving  Tom  to  his 
fate,  stopping  at  a  safe  distance,  for  conscience'  sake,  to 
discharge  their  pieces,  lest  Tom  should  say  they  had  no* 
defended  him. 

When  the  Yankee  had  amused  himself  enough  with  the 
rolling  process,  he  put  the  poor,  crest-fallen  beau  on  his 
saddle,  besmeared  from  head  to  foot,  a  sight  to  be  seen, 
and  sent  him  galloping  after  his  redoubtable  companions. 

Flying  at  his  utmost  speed,  not  stopping  till  he  joined 


70  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

company  with  them,  he  cried  out  in  a  doleful  voice  as  he 
reined  up  his  horse, 

"O!  Catlett!  I  say,"  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  We  omit  sundry 
expressions  with  which  the  young  gentleman  embellished 
his  speech.  "  I  say  but  we  '11  kill  every  Yankee  in  Kanzas." 

The  claim  was  some  thirty  miles  from  La  Belle  Prairie, 
to  which  delightful  retreat  our  company  hurried  along 
with  oaths  and  gesticulations,  and  great  swelling  wordis  of 
wrath,  that,  saving  upon  themselves,  seemed  to  produce 
little  effect.  The  sweet  air  played  among  the  trees,  the 
grass  waved  beneath  their  feet,  and  the  sky  above  was  as 
bright  and  pure  as  before,  only  in  their  own  hearts  was 
there  storm  and  disquiet.  Leaving  them  on  their  jour- 
ney, which  they  will  hardly  accomplish  before  night,  we 
hurry  before  them  to  Catlett's  house,  to  bring  up  the  do 
mestic  history,  which,  albeit,  it  may  not  seem  so  to  the 
uninitiated,  is  all  essential  to  our  narrative. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MATJD     AND     AUNT   PHEBE. 

THAT  first  day  in  school !  O,  what  a  long,  weary  day 
it  was.  You  who  in  some  pleasant  village  in  New  En- 
gland, have  gathered  your  pupils  about  you,  in  the  airy, 
well-lighted  room,  with  its  whitewashed  walls  and  painted 
desks,  can  form  little  idea  of  the  discomfort  to  which  Fanny 
was  subjected,  in  her  log  school-house  on  the  prairie. 

Its  one  window,  consisting  of  a  single  row  of  lights,  ex- 
tended the  length  of  the  building,  a  log  having  been  left  out 
for  the  purpose.  The  chinks  between  the  logs  were  filled 
up  with  clay,  which,  falling  out  piece  by  piece,  left  large 
air-holes,  useful  for  ventilation,  but  rather  inconvenient  in 
rainy  weather.  A  rude  bench,  without  a  back,  extended 
across  one  end  of  the  room,  but  this  not  supplying  seats 
for  all,  a  smooth  round  log  stood  near,  upon  which  the 
younger  children  sat;  and  being  little  roly  poly  things, 
they  were  continually  slipping  off,  greatly  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  the  rest. 

The  door,  alas!  would  seldom  shut,  and  when  it  did, 
could  only  be  opened  by  "  clawing^'  a  process  well  un- 
derstood vhere  latches  are  scarce,  but  in  which  it  took 
our  lSew  England  girl  some  time  to  gain  expertness. 
The  teacher's  chair  was  placed  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  seating  herself  thereon,  she  succeeded,  with 
the  aid  of  a  bell,  taken  only  the  day  before  from  the  neck 
of  old  Brindle,  in  calling  her  school  to  order. 


f  2  WESTERN     K  O  R  D  E  R     LIFE. 

Claiming  her  right  as  the  eldest,  Maria  Catlett  occupied 
the  head  of  the  seat,  and  with  her  rosy,  good-natured  face, 
full  of  smiles  and  good-humor,  seemed  not  an  unpromising 
pupil.  But  the  two  girls  who  sat  next  her,  dressed  in 
blue  cotton  homespun,  but  little  better  in  quality  than 
that  worn  by  the  servants,  with  unmeaning  faces  and  dull 
gray  eyes,  seemed  the  very  personification  of  ignorance 
and  stupidity.  Boss  and  Biny,  or  Virginia  and  Albina 
Gamby,  were  the  daughters  of  the  widow  lady  who  had 
visited  Mrs.  Catlett  the  day  before.  It  was  with  some 
difficulty  that  Fanny  ascertained  the  true  name  of  the 
eldest — the  girl  insisting  that  every  body  called  her  Boss, 
and  she  liked  it  a  heap  better  than  her  other  name. 

"  Why  do  they  call  you  so  ?"  inquired  Fanny. 

"  O,  ma  called  me  so  first,  'cause  she  said  I  was  the  head 
one  in  every  thing,  and  there  don't  nobody  call  me  any 
thing  else  now." 

Fanny,  however,  preferred  the  original  name,  and  al- 
ways addressed  her  as  Virginia  or  Ginry,  though  it  was 
long  before  the  rest  followed  her  example. 

Caroline,  or  Cal  Catlett,  came  next,  the  perfect  image 
of  her  mother,  with  the  same  scowl  upon  her  brow,  arid 
the  same  fretful  tone  to  her  voice. 

Maud,  the  wild,  elfish-looking  Maud,  with  long  sandy 
locks,  brown  complexion,  and  big  black  eyes,  sat  upon  the 
log  Vith  the  children,  a  little  boy  and  girl  of  six  and  eight, 
and  amused  herself  by  pinching  their  fat  necks,  bumping 
(heir  heads  together,  causing  them  by  a  sly  push  to  lose 
their  balance  and  tumble  off  the  seat,  and  by  various  other 
tricks,  which  suggested  themselves  to  her  fertile  imagina- 
tion. Poor  Maud!  She  spoke  the  truth  when  she  ex- 
pressed her  decided  preference  for  a  run  on  the  prairie,  to 
a  lesson  in  the  school-room.  Never  was  it  harder  for  a 
child  to  keep  still  five  minutes  at  a  time.  "  Born  to  tor- 


MAUD     AN  1)     A  U  NT     P  HEBE.  73 

merit  the  family,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett ;  "  always  in  a  strain  to 
be  cuttin'  up  some  mischief,"  said  Nanny ;  "  a  confounded 
little  plague,"  said  Massa  Dave ;  and  so  it  went  on.  The 
mother  fretted  and  the  father  swore,  but  neither  made  an 
effort  to  correct  the  child's  faults,  or  to  encourage  her,  if 
ghe  happened  to  be  right.  As  for  Maud,  she  laughed  at 
their  threats,  and  openly  expressed  her  independence  of 
them  all. 

"  Lors,  Dinah,"  she  would  say  to  her  sable  friend, 
**  what  you  s'pose  I  car',  when  ma  tells  me  to  keep  away 
from  dinner  ?  I  like  for  her  to  do  it.  I  just  goes  down 
to  Aunt  Phebe's  cabin,  and  get  hot  ash-cake  and  butter- 
miik — heap  better  'n  home  victuals !" 

Maud  was  not  alone  in  her  love  of  mischief.  The  effects 
of  her  training  were  evident  upon  the  little  ones  at  her 
side,  who  joined  in  all  her  pranks,  partly  from  an  innate 
love  of  the  same,  and  partly  through  fear,  for  Maud  was 
the  master-spirit,  and  exercised  great  tyranny  over  her 
inferiors. 

Between  the  roguery  of  the  younger  scholars,  and  the 
listless  inattention  of  those  older,  Fanny's  school  was  a 
very  disorderly  one  that  day,  and,  indeed,  it  was  many 
days,  before,  by  patient  labor  and  uniform  firmness,  she 
succeeded  in  establishing  any  thing  like  good  order. 

To  Maud,  the  restraint  seemed  unendurable.  She  fid- 
geted and  squirmed  on  her  seat,  sat  first  on  one  foot,  then 
on  the  other,  combed  her  hair  with  her  fingers,  made  up 
faces  at  the  children,  and,  finally,  watching  her  opportu- 
nity, darted  through  the  open  door,  clearing  at  a  bound 
the  obstacle  presented  there  by  a  little  black  urchin,  who, 
with  head  protruded  like  a  turtle,  blocked  up  the  way; 
The  little  ones  would  fain  have  followed;  but  a  word  from 
the  teacher  kept  them  in  their  seats,  and,  opening  hei 

4 


*,  i  WESTERN     BORDER     L1FB. 

book  again,  she  proceeded  calmly  with  the  exerciser  of 
the  school. 

At  twelve  o'clock  the  horn  sounded,  and  Martha, 
thrusting  her  head  in  at  the  door,  called  out,  "  Miss 
Car'line  say  you  all  break  up  school  and  come  in  to 
dinner,"  a  summons  the  children  showed  no  hesitation  in 
obeying. 

"Where  in  the  world  is  Maud  ?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  a? 
they  gathered  round  the  table. 

The  children  exchanged  significant  glances. 

"  Miss  Car'line,"  said  Viny,  stopping  on  her  way  to  tht 
table  with  a  plate  of  corn  Bread,  "  she  's  been  a  ridin'  de 
gray  colt  on  de  prairie.  Uncle  Jo  cotch  her  at  it,  when 
he  put  out  Massa  Dave's  horse,  and  Aunt  Tibby  jawin'  in 
de  kitchen,  'cause  she  steal  de  hoe  cake  'fore  de  fire.  She 
done  clar  out  some  vvhar." 

"She's  down  to  Aunt  Phebe's  cabin,"  said  Johnny; 
"  I  jest  see  her  down  thar,  throwin'  rocks  at  ma's  little 
young  turkeys." 

"She  '11  have  to  quit  that,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  with  more 
animation  than  she  usually  displayed.  "  You,  Viny,  go 
down  to  Aunt  Phebe's  cabin,  and  fetch  her  home  di- 
rec'ly." 

"  'Tain't  no  use,  Miss  Car'line.  Mighty  hard  work  to 
cotch  dat  chil',  anyhow,  and  when  you  get  hold,  ki,  how 
she  bite  and  scratch  !" 

"  You  do  as  I  tell  you,"  said  her  mistress ;  and  Viny 
departed,  shrugging  her  shoulders  and  grinning  from  ear 
to  ear. 

"  What  a  saucy  set  of  servants,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  lan- 
guidly. "  Marthy,  why  don't  you  fetch  the  crumb-cloth  ? 
If  1 7ve  told  you  once,  I  've  told  you  twenty  times,  to  brush 
off  the  crumbs  before  ever  you  brought  in  dessert.  You 
are  so  stupid."' 


MAUD     AND     AUNT    P  HEBE.  75 

I 's  goin'  to  Miss  Car'line.  I  jest  stopped  to  wait  on 
M*ss  Hetty." 

"O  ma,  just  lock  at  Tilla!"  said  Cal ;  "she's  drinkiu* 
np  the  baby's  buttermilk." 

Mrs.  Catlett  turned  in  time  to  witness  the  dropping  of 
the  empty  cup,  and  instantly  administered  sundry  cuffs, 
which  called  forth  a  succession  of  yells  from  the  unlucky 
offender. 

Poor  Tilla  I  Standing  by  the  chair  on  which  her  young 
mistress's  meal  was  spread,  in  her  scanty  blue  frock,  from 
which  her  bare  feet  protruded,  the  tears  running  down 
her  thin  cheeks,  she  looked  a  forlorn  picture  indeed. 

Fanny  had  pitied  the  poor  thing,  the  first  time  she  saw 
her,  bending  under  the  weight  of  a  stout  child,  who 
seemed  quite  her  equal  in  strength,  if  not  in  size.  "  Miss 
Hetty's  nurse,"  she  was  called,  and  the  whole  care  of  a 
healthy  baby,  of  two  years,  devolved  upon  her.  "  A  poor, 
scrawny,  ashy-lookin'  nigger,"  Massa  Dave  declared,  "  who 
it  made  him  sick  to  look  at.  •  Why  did  n't  pa  keep  her 
down  to  the  quarters  till  she  was  lit  for  something  ?" 

But  Tilla  was  thought  strong  enough  to  toat  the  baby, 
and  accordingly  was  kept  running  hither  and  thither  all 
day  wherever  the  whim  of  her  young  mistress  directed. 
Nothing  to  do  but  tend  the  baby  !  Every  body  seemed 
to  think  that  Tilla  had  a  mighty  easy  time  of  it,  and  cuffed 
her  ears,  and  called  her  a  lazy,  good-for-nothing  thing 
when  she  fell  asleep  over  the  cradle,  or  snatched  a  mouth- 
ful of  food  from  the  baby's  plate.  "  What  business  had 
she  to  be  sleepy  till  Miss  Hetty  was  disposed  of  for  the 
night,  or  hungry,  till  Miss  Hetty  had  eaten  her  dinner  ? 
O  !  a  mighty  easy  time  had  Tilla." 

"  Suppose  you  and  I  walk  down  to  Aunt  Phebe's  cabin, 
Maria,"  said  Fanny  after  dinner.  "  I  must  look  up  my 
truant  scholar" 


70  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

"  It  ain't  any  use,  Miss  Hunter,"  said  Maria,  as  they 
walked  along.  "You  can't  get  her  into  school.  There 
can't  nobody  do  the  first  thing  with  Maud,  but  Aunt 
Phebe,  she's  gotten  to  be  so  wild." 

"  How  happens  it  that  Aunt  Phebe  has  so  much  influ- 
ence over  her  ?"  inquired  Fanny. 

"  Why,  you  see,  Aunt  Phebe  took  all  the  care  of  her 
when  she  had  the  fever,  and  ever  since  then  she  takes 
Maud's  part  in  every  thing,  and  pets  her  'most  to  death ; 
and  Maud,  she  toats  up  her  trencher  every  day  for  dinner 
and  every  thing  nice  she  gets,  down  it  goes  to  Aunt 
Phebe's  cabin." 

"  Does  n't  Aunt  Phebe  take  her  dinner  with  the  other 
women  in  the  kitchen  ?" 

"  O !  no  marm,  not  this  long  time  back.  Why  she 
can't  hardly  get  out  of  her  chair.  She's  just  the  fattest 
thing  you  ever  saw." 

"  Is  she  old  ?" 

"  Yes  indeed.  We  don't  any  of  us  know  how  old. 
Ma  thinks  she  must  be  nigh  a  hundred.  Long  time  ago, 
when  Grandpa  Wortley  lived  in  Virginia,  she  was  grand- 
ma's maid,  and  when  ma  was  married,*  she  gave  her  to 
her.  Ma  thinks  heaps  of  Aunt  Phebe." 

"  I  should  think  she  would.  Who  takes  care  of 
her  ?" 

"  O !  Yiny  sleeps  there  nights,  and  daytimes  she  takes 
care  of  herself,  and  minds  the  babies  while  the  women  are 
at  work  in  the  field.  Sometimes  she  spins  a  little,  but 
only  when  she  takes  a  notion.  Ma  gives  her  a  new  yarn 
frock  every  Christmas,  and  Nan  and  I  knit  her  a  pair  of 
stockings." 

"  That's  right,"  said  Fanny.  "  You  must  take  a  great 
deal  of  pleasure  in  making  an  old  servant  comfortable." 

"  Yes  indeed ;  pa  says  Aunt  Phebe  earned  her  bread 


MAUD    AND     AUNT    PHEBE.  77 

and  bacon  a  long  time  back.  Why,  Miss  Hunter,  when 
we  first  come  to  Missouri,  and  I,  and  Nanny,  and  Dave, 
were  sick  with  the  measles,  Aunt  Phebe  doctored  and 
tended  us  three  weeks,  'cause  ma  was  so  afraid  the  field- 
hands  would  catch  it.  She  knows  a  heap  about  doctorin' ; 
and  ma  always  goes  to  her  when  any  of  the  women  are 
ailin'.  And  then  she's  so  pious  ;  she  lays  it  off  just  like  a 
minister,  and — holloa !  there's  Maud  now." 

Fanny  looked  in  the  direction  she  pointed.  A  few  rods 
from  Aunt  Phebe's  cabin,  a  large  hole  had  recently  been 
dug  preparatory  to  the  building  of  an  ice-hoof^,  but  the 
late  rain  had  left  a  couple  of  feet  of  v.^ter  there,  and  the 
work  was  discontinued.  Here,  under  Mead's  direction, 
the  little  piccaninnies  were  having  fiofi  times.  A  ladder 
was  placed  across  the  cavity,  covered  with  a  board,  and 
on  this  bridge  a  little  darkey,  some  six  jr  seven  years  old, 
was  displaying  his  agility  by  various  gymnastic  feats,  while 
the  others  stood  upon  the  bank  shouting  and  clapping 
their  hands. 

As  Fanny  and  Maria  approached,  he  was  crossing  by  a 
succession  of  summersets,  in  which  heels  and  head  followed 
each  other  so  rapidly  as  to  be  scarcely  distinguishable,  but 
when  about  half  across,  and  under  full  head- way,  he  sud- 
denly disappeared,  a  splash  below,  followed  by  a  scream 
from  the  lookers-on,  declaring  his  whereabouts. 

They  rushed  forward,  but  before  they  could  reach  the 
spot  the  ladder  was  pushed  down  into  the  water,  a  wiry 
little  figure  sprang  upon  it,  and  a  moment  after  re- 
appeared, pushing  the  dripping  Jim  Crow  performer 
before  her,  spitting  the  mud  and  water  furiously  from 
his  mouth,  while  the  same  elements  dripped  copiously 
from  his  woolly  pate  and  scanty  clothing. 

"  Bravely  done  !"  exclaimed  Fanny,  in  undisguised  a'lrni 
lation.  "  Why,  Maud,  you  are  a  young  heroine  !" 


78  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

Thue  apprised  of  her  presence,  the  child  pushed  back 
her  hair  and  looked  up,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  mirth  and 
excitement. 

"  Did  you  see  him  go  in  ?  Was  n't  it  great  ?  There 
would  have  been  a  right  smart  chance  of  a  drownin'.  if  I 
hadn't  been  her§  to  fish  him  out.  O!  how  he  looked, 
when  his  head  first  bobbed  out  of  the  water." 

Maud  threw  herself  upon  the  ground,  and  laughed  till 
the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks.  She  was  so  much  excited 
by  her  adventure,  that  she  had  quite  forgotten  the  morn- 
ing's offense,  and  it  was  not  Fanny's  policy  to  remind  her 
of  it  just  yet. 

"  Never  mind  him,"  she  said,  as  Fanny  attempted  with 
her  handkerchief  to  wipe  off  a  little  of  the  mud  from  the 
urchin's  visage,  "  dirt 's  of  no  account,  Jake's  used  to  it. 
Here,  you,  Tom,  take  him  to  the  kitchen,  and  mind  you 
don't  tell  Aunt  Tibby  where  I  am,"  then  suddenly  remem- 
bering what  had  occurred,  she  gave  Fanny  a  knowing 
glance,  and  growing  very  red  in  the  face,  said  she  would 
go  and  tell  Aunt  Phebe  about  it. 

"  We  were  just  going  to  Aunt  Phebe's,  when  Jake's 
performance  took  place,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  smile.  "  Sup- 
pose you  come,  too." 

"  Was  you  ?"  said  Maud,  with  sudden  interest.  "  What 
was  you  going  there  for  ?" 

"  Partly  to  see  Aunt  Phebe,"  said  Fanny.  "  I  want  to 
get  acquainted  with  her." 

"  Do  you  ?  Do  you  really  want  to  know  Aunt  Phebe  ?" 
said  the  child ;  the  whole  expression  of  her  face  changing 
at  once.  "  She  's  the  best  woman  in  the  whole  world. 
Yes,  I  '11  go  with  you.  Do  you  want  to  know  her,  sure 
enough  ?" 

She  took  Fanny's  proffered  hand  with  all  confidence, 
pulling  her  eagerly  along  toward  the  old  woman's  cabin. 


MAUD     AND     AUNT    PHEBE.  ?9 

u  Maud,"  said  Fanny,  stopping  suddenly  and  glancing 
at  her  watch,  "  we  must  wait  till  after  school.  It 's  past 
:me  o'clock.  Come,  I  see  the  children  watching  for  us  at 
the  door." 

Maud  had  previously  made  up  her  mind  not  to  go  into 
school  again  that  day,  but  she  was  fairly  caught,  and  see- 
ing no  honorable  way  of  retreat,  suffered  the  new  teacher 
to  lead  her  to  the  hated  prison-house. 

"  Maud,"  said  Fanny,  as  they  walked  along,  "  who 
put  the  ladder  across  for  Jake  to  turn  summersets  on, 
and  how  came  you  to  think  of  it  so  quick  when  he 
fell  in  ?» 

"  Lors,  Miss  Hunter,  Tom  and  I  toated  it  all  the  way 
from  the  stable  on  purpose.  I  reckoned  he  'd  tumble  in, 
but  I  knew  I  could  haul  him  out  easy." 

Aunt  Phebe's  cabin  stood  last  in  the  row  extending  be- 
hind Mr.  Catlett's  house.  A  large  gourd-vine  had  covered 
the  low  roof,  where  its  yellow  fruit  now  lay  ripening  in  the 
sun,  and  the  little  patcli  of  ground  in  the  rear,  showed  evi- 
dent marks  of  cultivation.  The  n--^e  within  was  dark 
and  gloomy,  light  only  being  admitted  through  the  low 
doorway,  and  through  chinks  between  the  logs,  where 
the  mud  had  fallen  out.  There  was  no  floor,  but  the 
ground  was  worn  smooth  and  hard  by  the  tread  of  many 
feet.  The  chimney-place  was  large  and  wide,  and  here, 
in  a  comfortable  arm-chair,  with  her  foot  upon  a  cradle, 
containing  two  little  woolly-headed  specimens  of  humanity, 
Aunt  Phebe  was  generally  to  be  found. 

"Aunty,  here's  the  teacher  come  to  see  you,"  cried 
Maud,  as  she  ushered  Fanny  through  the  low  doorway. 

"She's  welcome,"  said  the  old  woman  with  dignity. 
"I  hope  you  are  well,  missus.  Dinah,  set  a  stool,  and  say 
how-dy  to  the  lady." 

Aunt  Phebe  did  the  honors  of  her  humble  habitation 


80  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

with  great  politeness,  assuming  an  air  of  consequence  that 
was  amusing  to  behold.  Fanny  accepted  the  proffered 
seat,  and  gazed  at  the  venerable  figure  before  her  with  in- 
terest and  curiosity,  while  Maud  busied  herself  with  the 
babies  in  the  cradle.  Aunt  Phebe's  face  was  too  plump  to 
admit  of  many  wrinkles,  but  judging  by  her  woolly  head, 
which  was  nearly  white,  and  by  the  tremulous  motion  of 
her  hands,  she  was  a  very  old  woman. 

4(  Mighty  poorly,  mighty  poorly,"  she  said  in  reply  to 
Fanny's  inquiries  respecting  her  health.  "  'Pears  like  de 
ole  body  gets  weaker  an'  weaker  ebery  day.  De  Lord 
mos'  done  wid  ole  Phebe  here." 

"  O  !  don't  talk  so,  aunty,"  said  Maud,  cheerfully,  "  you 
ain't  goin'  to  die  this  long  time  yet." 

"  Do'  'no,  honey,  do'  'no ;"  said  the  old  woman,  "  can't 
spec'  to  last  always.  When  de  ole  house  shake,  massa  say 
pull  him  down.  'T  ain't  no  use  foolin'  in  de  kitchen,  when 
de  work  done  clared  up.  I'se  done,  got  through  my  work, 
jess  waitin'  for  de  Lord's  call." 

"  You  seem  very  happy  at  the  thought  of  going,"  said 
Fanny.  "  Don't  you  ever  feel  afraid  to  die  ?" 

"  Lord  bless  you,  honey,  one  sight  o'  glory  scared  off 
all  de  dark.  Satan's  done  tryin'  to  pester  me  dis  long  time 
back.  It  wa'n't  no  use.  Ye  see  de  Lord  He  stood  by,  and 
showed  me  whar  I  was  comin'  out." 

"Aunty's  been  up  to  heaven  heaps  of  times,"  said 
Maud,  looking  as  though  she  firmly  believed  it.  "  Tell  us 
all  about  it,  aunty,  how  you  saw  'em  all  sittin'  round  so 
happy,  and  one  prettier  than  all  the  rest  tellin'  over  the 
good  people  to  come  up  by-and-by." 

"  A.nd  so  I  did,  honey,  an'  bless  de  good  Lord  ole 
Phebe's  name  was  de  fas'  ting.  O  !  go  way  !  Dont  tell 
me  'bout  dyin' ;  when  de  Lord  open  de  door  dis  chil'  walk 
straight  through.  De  Lord  he  say,  c  Phebe,  any  more 


MAUD    AND    AUNT    PHEBE.  81 

down  dar  mos'  ready?'  I  say,  'Don'  no,  Lord.'  Den 
dey  all  begin  to  shout  and  sing, 

f*  *  Glory  I  glory !  room  for  all, 

Come,  poor  sinners,  great  and  small1 

0!  chil'en,  dar's  a  power  o'  glory  up  dar;  'nuff  to  make 
my  ole  eyes  glimmer." 

44  Come  now,  aunty,  you  want  to  get  happy,  I  know  you 
do,"  said  Maud.  "  Don't  you  want  to  see  Aunt  Phebe 
get  happy,  Miss  Hunter  ?  It 's  real  good." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Maud  ?"  said  Fanny,  44  Aunt 
Phebe  seems  very  happy  now." 

44  O  !  not  that  kind  of  happy.  She  's  so  all  times.  I 
mean  4  Halleluyah  happy,'  like  they  get  at  camp  meetins, 
you  know." 

Fanny  did  not  know,  but  was  soon  enlightened.  Closing 
her  eyes,  and  rocking  her  body  backward  and  forward, 
Aunt  Phebe  commenced  singing  to  a  wild  and  monotonous 
strain,  words  something  like  the  following,  accompanying 
the  music  with  violent  gestures  of  the  hundp  and  head, 
while  the  rocking  grew  more  and  more  v.^y^us  as  she 
proceeded, 

"  *  Jesus  up  to  heaven  has  gone, 

I'm  mos'  dar. 
Bids  de  pilgrims  follow  on, 

I'm  mos'  dar. 

Ole  companions  fare-you-well, 
T  Babbling  down  to  def  and  hell, 
I  vid  Jesus  Christ  to  dwell, 

I'm  mos*  dar. 
No  more  sorrow,  no  more  sin, 

I'm  mos'  dar. 
Come,  my  Jesus,  let  me  in, 

I'm  mos'  dar. 

4* 


82  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

0 !  de  angels  1  bright  as  day  I 
Welcome,  sister  I  hear  dem  say ; 
Glory !  glory  I  clar  de  way  1 
I'm  mos'  dar.' 

"  Yes,  yes.  Come,  Lord !  come  !  Don't  wait !  O ! 
pi  aise  de  good  Lord !  No  more  sin,  no  more  sorrow. 

0  !   dear  Lord  Jesus  !     O  !  blessed  Jesus  !     Halleluyah ! 

1  feeli*  him  here !     Heaben  has  come  !     O !  glory !  glory !" 

These  ejaculations  were  repeated  again  and  again,  ac- 
companied by  sighs,  asd  groans,  and  streaming  tears.  At 
length  they  became  less  and  less  frequent,  and  finally  ended 
entirely  in  one  long-drawn  sigh.  Her  head  sank  back, 
her  eyes  closed,  and  her  features  grew  fixed  and  rigid. 
Fanny  would  have  hastened  to  her  assistance,  supposing 
her  in  a  fit,  but  Maud  held  her  back. 

"Don't,  Miss  Hunter,  don't  touch  her.  She's  lost  her 
strength,  you  know.  Let  her  be,  and  when  she  comes  to, 
she  '11  talk,  O  !  so  beautiful,  about  what  she  sees  up  thar." 

"  Up  where,  my  child  ?"  said  Fanny. 

"Why  up  yonder  in  the  sky,"  said  Maud,  wonderingly. 

"  Do  you  think  Aunt  Phebe  really  sees  all  those  things, 
Maud  ?» 

"  Aunty  never  tells  stories,"  said  the  child,  earnestly. 
"Never!" 

"  I  know.  She  believes  it  to  be  so,  just  as  she  tells  us ; 
but,  Maud,  did  n't  you  ever  dream  things  that  seemed 
very  real  to  you,  and  yet  were  only  dreams,  after  all  ?" 

"  Aunty  would  n't  say  so  if  it  was  n't  true.  She  ne^er 
tells  stories,"  repeated  the  child. 

"  O,  no !  I  did  not  mean  that,  Maud.  She  thinks  a 
great  deal  about  Heaven,  and  so  sometimes  she  dreams 
about  it,  and  thinks  herself  really  there.  Maud,  we  can't 
go  to  Heaven  while  our  bodies  are  here  alive  on  the  earth. 
It 's  only  our  spirits  that  fly  up  to  God." 


MAUD    AND    AUNT    PHEBE.  S3 

But  Maud's  faith  was  not  thus  to  be  shaken,  and,  with 
crimson  cheeks  and  flashing  eyes,  she  assured  Fanny  that 
"  she  did  n't  like  for  her  to  talk  that  way  about  her  aunty," 
and  snatching  up  her  bonnet,  she  hastily  left  the  cabin. 

"  Well,"  said  Aunt  Phebe,  opening  her  eyes,  "  Well, 
ohiPen,  'tain't  for  long.  'Pears  like  a  few  more,  take  dia 
yer  ole  body  right  up.  What  for  no,  if  de  Lord  say 
Come  ?» 

"  Perhaps  the  Lord  has  something  more  for  you  to  do 
here,  aunty." 

"  'Pears  like  ole  Phebe's  work  was  all  done  up,"  said 
the  old  woman. 

"  When  we  have  done  working  ourselves,  we  can  help 
others  by  our  experience,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Jes  so,  honey.  Jes  so !  'Cause  too  old  to  trabble, 
no  reason  should  n't  pint  out  de  road  to  odders.  Has 
young  missus  sperienced  'ligion  ?"  said  Aunt  Phebe, 
timidly ;  "  talks  mighty  pious,  anyhow." 

"  I  hope  so,  Aunt  Phebe.  I  trust  I  am  in  the  right 
road.  Your  Saviour  is,  I  believe,  my  Saviour  too." 

"  Bless  de  Lord  for  dat,  honey.  It  cheers  dis  ole  heart 
to  hear  you  say  so.  So  young  and  bloomin'  too." 

"And,  aunty,  we  must  be  friends,  and  help  each  other 
along  in  this  good  work.  Help  each  other  to  do  good. 
Do  you  know  that  you  can  help  me  a  great  deal  if  you  will?" 

"  Lors,  missus  ?  What  can  ole  Phebe  do  ?  Ain't  no 
'count.  Sing  and  pray  a  little.  Dat's  all.  Never  had 
no  larnii_'." 

"  You  have  influence,  aunty.  More  influence  over  one 
precious  soul  here,  than  any  body  else  in  the  world.  Who 
is  it  that  will  do  any  thing  in  the  world  to  please  aunty, 
let  her  be  ever  so  disobedient  to  others  ?  And  who  leaves 
her  play  many  a  time,  to  come  here  and  sit  by  the  fire, 
with  her  old  aunty  ?" 


84  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  Bless  her  heart,  and  so  she  do  !"  said  the  old  woman, 
wiping  her  eyes  with  her  apron.  "  Don't  you  b'lieve  dat'a 
de  wust  child  in  de  world.  I  '11  be  boun'  now,"  she  con- 
tinued, with  sudden  animation,  "  they's  been  a  runnin'  on 
to  missus  'bout  my  child.  It  ?s  de  curisest  ting  !  'cause  cut 
up  s  Hnes  now  and  den,  no  reason  won't  come  out  straight 
by  'n  by.  Dar  ain't  no  better  heart  nowhar,  dan  Miss 
Maud  got,  and  she  's  smarter  dan  ary  one  ob  'em  for  all 
dar  chat." 

"  You  love  her,  aunty,"  said  Fanny,  "  and  you  want  to 
do  her  good,  don't  you  ?" 

"  Don't  I !"  said  the  old  woman,  with  uplifted  hands. 
u  Dar  ain't  nothin'  I  would  n't  do  for  dat  ar'  child.' 

"  Well,  I  want  to  do  her  good,  too,  and  I  find  I  can't 
do  it  half  so  easily,  and  perhaps  not  at  all,  unless  you 
help  me." 

"  Lor,  what  does  young  missus  mean  ?" 

"  Just  this,  aunty :  when  little  Maud  runs  away  from 
school,  because  it 's  tiresome  and  dull  at  first,  if  she  finds 
a  pleasant  seat  by  Aunt  Phebe's  fire,  and  a  pleasant  wel- 
come from  aunty  herself,  she  '11  be  very  likely  to  do  it 
again  ;  but  if  instead  she  should  be  told  kindly,  how  much 
better  it  would  be  to  stay  in  school,  and  mind  her  studies 
and  her  teacher,  would  n't  she  do  it,  think  ?  and  would  n't 
there  be  more  chance  of  her  growing  to  be  a  good  girl, 
and  coming  out  straight  at  last,  as  you  say  ?" 

"  Well,  now,  missus,  I  did  n't  go  to  keep  Miss  Maud 
here  dis  yer  mornin',  no  ways.  S'pose  she  done  got 
through  her  lessons,  you  know.  But  tell  you  what !  spec' 
you  are  right,  anyhow,  and  I  reckon  de  Lord  sent  you 
here  to  do  us  all  good." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  Maud  herself 
appearing  at  the  door. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

AUTUMN     LEAVES. 

"  Miss  HUNTEH,"  said  Maud,  "  the  girls  are  out  yonder 
waitin'  to  show  you  the  garden." 

"  I  '11  come  directly,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Well,  farewell,  honey.  You  come  agin.  De  Lord 
bless  ye  and  give  ye  a  work  to  do  here  'mong  us  all.  I 
shan't  forget  dat  ar  hint  ob  yours;  and  Maud,  honey, 
you  run  down  about  supper-time,  an'  aunty  '11  have  a  hot 
ash-cake  for  ye." 

"  O,  goody !  I  '11  come,"  said  Maud,  and  she  ran  on  be- 
fore, swinging  her  sun-bonnet  in  her  hand,  while  her  long 
le-^ks  streamed  in  the  wind. 

They  found  the  children  waiting  for  them  at  the  garden 
gate,  and,  sauntering  through  its  leaf-strewn  walks,  Fanny 
listened  to  their  animated  description  of  its  past  glories. 

"  Yonder 's  ma's  rose-tree,"  said  Cal.  "  O,  didn't  it 
look  beautiful  along  in  the  summer.  Why,  Miss  Hunter, 
it  was  jest  covered  with  blows." 

"Red  roses,  them  were,"  said  little  Joy;  "but  we  had 
white  ones,  and  a  mess  of  little  bits  of  ones,  that  grew 
'most  down  to  the  ground." 

"Dwarf  roses,  she  means,"  said  'Ria.  "Yes,  and  such 
beautiful  pinks,  and  petunias,  and  fou~-o'clocks,  and  some 
yellow  flowers  that  spread  all  over  the  garden.  And  then 
the  cypress- vine ;  oh,  was  n't  that  pretty  !  It  grew  up 


86  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

'most  as  high  as  the  school-house,  and  the  blows  was  so 
thick,  you  could  n't  hardly  see  the  leaves.  There !  you 
can  see  the  poles  it  run  on,  out  yonder  there  by  the  cher- 
ry-tree." 

"You  are  all  fond  of  flowers?"  said  Fanny. 

"  I  reckon  we  be,"  said  'Ria.  "  Pa  gave  us  each  a  little 
garden-patch  last  spring,  to  plant  an^  take  care  of  our- 
selves. There  's  mine  over  in  that  second  row.  There 
ain't  much  left  of  it,  to  be  sure." 

"  And  here  was  mine,"  said  Cal.  "  This  was  my  bed 
of  pinks,  and  here  was  the  ragged-robins  and  the  snap- 
pers, only  you  can't  see  'em  'cause  the  hogs  got  in  the 
other  day,  and  rooted  'em  all  up." 

"  Jest  look  at  mine,"  screamed  little  Johnny.  "  I  had 
the  tallest  marigolds  of  any  of  'em." 

The  children  laughed. 

"  He  did  n't  have  any  thing  else,  Miss  Hunter,"  said 
'Ria. 

"  And  whose  is  this  ?"  inquired  Fanny,  pointing  to  an 
irregularly-shaped  patch,  with  a  huge  cabbage  in  each  cor- 
ner, and  an  edge  of  green  myrtle. 

"  O,  that 's  Maud's.  You  might  know  by  its  being  so 
odd.  Instead  of  planting  garden-seeds,  like  the  rest  of 
us,  she  must  needs  go  off  and  dig  up  roots  on  the  prairie, 
and  set  'em  out.  When  they  blossomed,  they  was  jest 
nothing  but  prairie  flowers." 

"  I  don't  car',"  said  Maud.  "  I  like  'em  best.  They 
ain't  half  so  stuck  up  as  garden-posies." 

"  Did  they  grow  well  here  ?"  said  Fanny. 

"  A  good  many  of  'em  died,"  said  Maud.  "  They  kinder 
drooped  and  pined  away,  like  they  were  home-sick  for  the 
prairie." 

"  Transplanted  flowers,"  said  Fanny,  softly. 

"  And  one  that  I  liked  best  of  all,"  said  Maud,  "  with  a 


AUTUMN     LEAVES.  87 

beautiful  blue  blossom  like  a  star.  O  !  I  tried  so  hard  to 
make  it  live,  but  it  would  n't." 

"Poor  flower,  it  was  pining  for  its  old  home,"  said 
Fanny. 

"  I  know  it,  and  when  I  found  it  would  n't  live  anyhow, 
I  jest  took  it  up  and  carried  it  back  again,  and  when  I 
went  to  look  at  it,  it  had  raised  up  its  head,  and  looked 
so  bright  and  glad-like,  that  it  was  home  again." 

"  Come,  Miss  Hunter,  if  Maud  gets  talking  about  her 
flowers,  she  '11  keep  you  here  till  night.  There 's  an  arbor 
down  at  the  other  end  of  the  garden ;  don't  you  want  to 
see  it  ?" 

"  You  must  have  gathered  beautiful  bouquets  from  the 
garden  all  summer,"  said  Fanny  as  they  walked  along. 

"  Yes  indeed.  You  know  those  two  silver  cups  on  the 
shelf  in  the  new  room  ?  Well,  every  morning  ma  filled 
'em  chock  full  of  flowers,  and  now  they  look  so  empty. 
It 's  such  a  pity  flowers  don't  last  the  year  round,"  said 
Cal,  with  a  sigh. 

"  I  'm  afraid  we  should  n't  prize  them  enough,  Cal,  if 
they  did,"  said  Fanny ;  "  but  your  cups  need  n't  stand 
empty  all  winter.  You  can  filLthem  with  bright  berries, 
or  autumn  leaves." 

"  Autumn  leaves !  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing ! 
What !  these  old  brown  withered  things  ?"  said  Cal,  scat- 
tering a  whole  shower  with  her  foot. 

"  No,  Cal,  not  those,  but  the  crimson,  and  gold,  and 
orange  that  you  see  on  the  trees." 

"  But  they  all  turn  this  color,  Miss  Hunter,  after 
awhile." 

"  Not  if  they  are  taken  fresh  from  the  trees,  and  pressed 
with  the  dampness  yet  on  them.  You  can  keep  all  these 
beautiful  colors  through  the  winter  just  as  you  se<^  them 
on  the  trees  " 


88  WESTERN     BOB  DEB    LIFE. 

"  What  a  funny  idea !  A  nosegay  of  leaves !  and  do 
they  last  all  winter,  sure  enough  ?" 

".Certainly,  and  look  almost  as  pretty  across  the  room 
as  a  bunch  of  flowers." 

"  Let 's  have  some,  girls,  will  you  ?"  said  'Ria.  "  Will 
you  go  and  get  some  with  us,  Miss  Hunter  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  should  be  delighted  to  go." 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  this  very  night.  There  '11  be  time, 
won't  there,  Miss  Hunter,  before  night." 

"  Hardly,"  said  Fanny.  "  We  can  go  to-morrow  di- 
rectly after  school." 

"  Yes,  yes,  to-morrOw  night.  You  hear,  now,  all  of 
you.  We  are  going  into  the  woods  after  autumn  leaves,'1 
said  Joy,  skipping  up  and  down  on  the  garden  walk. 

"If it's  clear,"  said  Cal. 

"  O,  it  will  be  clear  enough,  old  maid  Cal,"  said  'Ria. 
"  It  never  rains  in  Indian  summer." 

The  next  day  nothing  was  talked  about  among  the  chil- 
dren but  the  proposed  walk,  and  Boss  and  Biny  Gamby, 
whose  horse  was  waiting  for  them  at  the  gate  precisely  at 
four  o'clock,  looked  back  sorrowfully  as  they  rode  away, 
at  the  little  group  gathered  round  the  school-house  door. 

"  It 's  too  bad  they  can't  go,"  said  'Ria.  "  If  old  Madam 
Gamby  was  n't  too  mean  to  pay  their  board,  they  might 
have  lived  here  all  winter,  instead  of  poking  off  every 
night  on  that  old  nag." 

"  Hush,  'Ria.     I  would  n't  talk  so,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Why  not,  Miss  Hunter  ?     She  is  as  mean  as — " 

"Nanny's  pie  crust,"  suggested  little  Joy. 

"  Good  for  Joy,"  said  Cal,  laughing.  "  It 's  a  fact,  Miss 
Hunter,  and  every  body  knows  it." 

"  Well,  it  does  n't  make  her  any  better  to  talk  about  it, 
'does  it,  Cal  ?  Better  say  nothing  at  all  about  a  person, 
than  to  speak  ill  of  them." 


AUTUMN     LEAVES.  8U 

"If  it  should  happen  to  get  to  their  ears,"  said  Cal. 

"  Come,  what  are  you  standing  here  all  day  for  ?"  said 
Maud.  "  If  you  are  ready,  we  had  better  be  off,  I  reckon." 

"  Here 's  Johnny,  he  can't  go,"  said  Cal.  "  Come, 
Johnny,  you  run  back  to  the  house,  there  's  a  good  boy, 
and  ma  will  give  you  a  great  hunk  of  cracklin'  bread." 

"  I  won't,"  said  Johnny,  beginning  to  cry  ;  "  I  want  to 
go  too." 

"Let  him  go,  Cal,  he  wants  to  so  bad,"  said  'Ria. 
"He  won't  do  any  harm." 

"  You  know  better,  'Ria.     I  ain't  goin'  to  be  pestered 
with  him.     I  shall  just  have  to  drag  him  over  all  the 
fences  we  come  across,  and  he  's  certain  to  fall  into  every  * 
ditch." 

"  I  ain't,  either,"  said  Johnny ;  "  I  think  you  are  real 
mean,  I  do  so,"  with  a  prolonged  howl. 

"  Hush  up  this  minute,"  said  his  sister  ;  "  Miss  Hunter, 
can  he  go  ?" 

"  Is  it  very  far  ?"  said  Fanny. 

"  Lor,  Miss  Hunter,  it 's  no  way  at  all,"  said  Maud. 
"  He  can  go  as  well  as  any  of  'em.  Come  on,  Johnny, 
I  '11  see  to  you." 

"If  he  gets  in  any  trouble,  it  won't  be  my  fault,"  said 
Cal. 

"  No,  Miss  Prudence,  you  'd  get  quit,  any  how,"  said 
Maud,  looking  back  as  she  started  off  at  a  round  pace, 
dragging  Johnny  after  her. 

"  What  are  you  going  that  way  for,  Maud  ?  It  Js  near- 
est down  th*  lane,"  said  'Ria. 

"  I  want  to  stop  at  Aunt  Phebe's  a  minute,  she  's  got  a 
hot  ash-cake  for  us  in  the  ashes." 

"  O,  goody  !"  said  Joy,  smacking  her  lips. 

"  You  all  go  on,"  said  Maud,  as  she  disappeared  in  the 
doorway.  "  I  '11  be  up  with  you." 


90  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

They  waUed,  howe\'er,  till  she  reappeared,  tossing  a 
round,  thick  substance  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  as 
large  as  little  Johnny's  head,  and  about  the  color  of  ashes. 

"Now,  then,"  said  'Ria,  "  smoking  hot,  ain't  it,  Maud?" 

"  Hot !  I  reckon  it  is,"  said  Maud,  with  various  express- 
ive contortions  of  countenance,  breaking  up  the  cake  and 
displaying  its  golden  interior. 

"  O,  how  good  it  smells,"  said  Joy,  hopping  round  on 
one  foot  and  snuffing  up  the  savor.  "  Give  me  a  big  piece, 
quick,  Maud." 

"I'll  jest  give  the  teacher  some,  and  then  we'll  have 
the  balance,"  said  Maud.  "  Why  here 's  a  piece  of  collup 
leaf  stickin'  on  yet." 

"  What 's  a  collup  leaf?"  inquired  Fanny. 

"Why,  Miss  Hunter,  don't  you  know?  How  funny; 
the  teacher  don't  know  what  a  collup  leaf  is.  There  's 
heaps  of  'em  over  in  Aunt  Phebe's  patch.  Don't  you  see 
'em  ?" 

"  What,  those  ?     They  are  cabbages,"  said  Fanny. 

"  We  call  'em  collups,"  said  'Ria.  "  They  always  wrap 
two  or  three  leaves  round  an  ash-cake,  to  keep  in  the 
sweetness,  you  know." 

"  I  see  I  shall  learn  a  great  many  new  things  here  on  the 
prairie,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  smile. 

By  this  time  the  ash-cake  was  divided,  and  each  con- 
tentedly munching  a  piece,  they  went  on  their  way. 

"  Somehow  Aunt  Phebe's  ash-cakes  taste  sweeter  than 
any  body's  else,"  said  Joy,  with  her  mouth  full. 

"  Of  course  they  do,"  said  Maud.  "Every  thing  aunty 
makes  is  better  than  other  folks'." 

Crossing  a  stile  by  Aunt  Phebe's  cabin,  they  walked  a 
little  way  down  the  road,  and  climbing  a  high  fence, 
passed  a  narrow  patch  of  plowed  ground,  and  found 
themselves  at  the  entrance  of  the  wood  lot. 


AUTUMN    LEAVES.  91 

"This  path  leads  down  to  the  spring,"  said  'Ria. 
'  Will  that  be  the  best  way  to  go  ?" 

"  Perhaps  so,  it  makes  very  little  difference.  We  shall 
find  what  we  want  anywhere  about  here,  I  think,"  said 
Fanny.  Reaching  up  as  she  spoke,  she  broke  off  a  twig 
from  a  tree  that  overhung  the  path. 

"  Here  we  have  something,"  she  said.  "  See  how  beau- 
tifully this  leaf  is  spotted  with  yellow  and  green,  and  these 
others  striped  with  red  and  yellow,  like  the  leaves  of  a 
tulip." 

"  That 's  a  maple-tree,"  said  Maria.  "  Here  !  I  '11  hold 
on  to  this  branch,  if  you  can  pull  it  down,  Miss  Hunter." 

"  What 's  that  tree  yonder,  that  looks  so  red  ?"  said 
Cal.  "  It  blazes  like  it  was  on  fire." 

"  That 's  a  dwarf  oak,  I  reckon.  What  Dave  calls  a 
black  Jack,"  said  'Ria. 

"  No,  that  is  n't  an  oak,"  said  Fanny,  looking  round  to 
see.  "  At  least  I  think  not.  The  oak-tree  turns  a  darker 
red.  More  of  a  maroon.  This  must  be  an  ash,  or  a  birch, 
perhaps." 

"  I  'li  go  and  see,"  said  Cal. 

"  And  Cal,"  said  Fanny,  still  standing  on  tiptoe  under 
the  maple  branch,  "  stop  and  get  some  of  the  oak  leaves 
from  the  tree  where  I  point  with  my  parasol,  just  this  side 
of  the  tall  one  that 's  almost  bare.  Do  you  see  it  ?" 

"Yes,  Miss  Hunter,"  and  off  she  ran. 

u  Lors,  Joy,  jest  look  over  dar,"  screamed  little  Johnny. 

"  Whar  ?"  said  his  sister. 

"  Children,"  said  Cal,  "  for  mercy's  sake  don't  talk  so 
flat.  I  should  think  black  Jake  was  here,  with  his  c  dars,* 
and  '  whars,'  and  all  that." 

"  Jake  talks  as  good  as  any  body,"  said  Johnny,  who 
nad  his  favorite  as  well  as  the  rest,  "  and  I  will  say  dar  if 
want  to,  for  all  you,  Cal." 


92  WES  TEKN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

"  I  '11  tell  ma  how  you  behave,  and  then  we'll  seej 
his  sister. 

"Here  are  the  oak  leaves,"  said  'Ria,  returning  with  a 
branch  in  her  hand.  "  They  are  mighty  ugly,  though." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?"  said  Fanny,  stripping  off  the  de- 
fective leaves.  "  See  what  a  pretty  contrast  they  make  to 
the  bright  colors  of  my  maples.  They  are  dark,  to  be 
sure,  but  how  soft  the  shading  is.  Some  of  them  look 
like  velvet,  they  are  so  smooth  and  glossy.  O !  no,  we 
must  n't  exclude  the  oak  leaves  from  our  bouquet." 

"Here's  a  leaf,  with  little  bumps  all  over  it,  just  like 
the  warts  on  old  Miss  Bradley's  face,"  said  Joy. 

"  See  what  I  've  got  !"  said  Johnny,  hastening  toward 
them  with  both  hands  full. 

"  O !  sumach  leaves,"  said  Fanny.  "  Well,  Johnny, 
they  are  very  pretty  indeed.  As  rosy  as  your  own  cheeks. 
Can  you  find  some  more?  and  Johnny,"  she  called  out  as 
he  ran  off,  delighted  to  be  useful,  "  pick  them  with  longer 
stems.  Ah,  now,  if  there  was  only  some  way  of  reaching 
that  high  branch,  how  beautifully  those  speckled  leaves 
would  look  in  our  bouquet." 

"  I  '11  get  them,"  said  Maud,  and  before  Fanny  could 
utter  a  word  of  remonstrance,  she  sprang  up  the  tree  like 
a  squirrel,  and  was  down  again  with  the  branch  in  her 
hand. 

"  O  !  Maud  !  how  could  you  ?" 

"Lor,  that's  nothing.  I  hope  I've  climbed  highei 
trees  than  that." 

"  But  you  might  fall,  Maud,  and  besides,  it 's  so  unlady- 
like." 

"  Lady-like  !"  repeated  Maud,  contemptuously,  "  I  don't 
want  to  be  lady-like." 

"  Ma  wants  you  to  be,  though,"  said  'Ria ;  "  she  says 
ehe  's  always  ashamed  of  you  before  folks." 


A  U  T  U  M  NT      LEAVES.  9* 

"I  don't  car'.  I  'spose  you  call  Belle  Boynton  and 
Mrs.  Pitts  lady-like,  with  their  stuck-up,  raincin'  ways. 
I'm  sure  I'd  rather  scratch  round  like  black  Jinn^,  than 
be  like  them." 

"  You  can  be  easy  and  natural  in  your  manners,  Maud, 
and  yet  be  lady-like,"  said  Fanny.  "  I  should  be  as  sorry 
to  see  you  '  stuck-up,'  as  you  call  it,  as  you  would  your- 
self. But  never  mind  now,  we  are  in  the  free  woods,  and 
won't  talk  about  the  ways  of  the  world  to-day.  Can't  we 
find  some  vine  that  has  turned  a  pretty  crimson  or  yellow, 
to  answer  for  pendants — our  bouquet,  v/ill  look  stiff  without 
'.hem." 

"  The  wild  blackberry,"  suggp^d  Cal. 

"  That  is  pretty,  but  the  leaves  arc  too  large  and 
coarse  for  droops.  We  will  hr.ve  a  few,  though,  to  mix 
in  with  the  other  leaves.  They  sometimes  turn  very 
richly." 

UI  know  where  we  picked  heaps  of  berries  tasfc  summer, 
Cal,"  said  Maud  ;  "  come,  let 's  go  and  find  'ern." 

"  Here 's  a  little  yellow  vine  runnin'  round  the  roots  of 
this  old  tree,"  said  'Ria.  "  Will  this  do  ?" 

"  Finely,"  said  Fanny.  "  Careful  now,  careful,  pull  it 
up  as  long  as  you  can.  Ah,  yes,  that  is  pretty !" 

The  girls  here  returned  with  some  blackberry  leaves. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Fanny,  "  our  collection  would  be 
complete  if  we  had  some  pretty  green  to  set  off  the  other 
colors.  Are  there  any  fern  leaves  about  here  ?  They 
keep  their  color  very  well." 

"  Heaps  of  'em  down  to  the  spring,"  said  Maud,  who 
seemed  to  know  where  every  thing  grew. 

"  O,  yes,  Miss  Hunter,  and  such  beautiful  moss  growin' 
round  the  old  stumps;  it's  just  the  prettiest  place  any- 
where about,"  said  Joy. 

"And  in  the  spring  the  banks  are  covered  over  vvitb 


94  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

blue  violets,"  said  Maud ,  "  you  find  flowers  there  before 
you  do  anywhere  else." 

"  Well,  we  will  go  to  the  spring  if  there  is  time,"  said 
Fanny.  "Is  it  far?" 

"  O,  no,  Miss  HuLier,  just  down  the  path  yonder,  a  lit- 
le  ways.     Do  go,  we  have  n't  gotten  half  enough,"  said 
Johnny,  who  was  hopping  up  and  down  in  his  delight. 

Fanny  needed  little  persuasion.  In  the  beauty  of  the 
scene  before  her,  the  soft,  spring-like  air,  the  gorgeously 
tinted  trees,  the  rustling  carpet  beneath  her  feet,  and, 
above  all,  in  the  glorious  freedom  of  the  forest,  she  ex- 
perienced a  kind  of  wild  delight,  that  carried  her  back  to 
the  days  of  her  childhood.  She  could  have  danced  about 
with  the  little  ones,  or  shouted  and  sang  as  they  did,  in 
their  free-hearted  gayety,  till  the  old  woods  rang  again. 
But  though  she  refrained  from  any  such  manifestations  of 
delight,  there  was  a  springing  lightness  to  her  step,  and  a 
flush  on  her  usually  pale  face,  that  told  of  intense  enjoyment, 
and  the  children,  who  possessed  no  such  keen  perception 
of  the  beautiful,  wondered  at  her  frequent  exclamations 
of  delight. 

"  You  think  every  thing's  beautiful,  seems  to  me,"  said 
'Ilia,  as  her  teacher  got  down  upon  her  knees  to  examine 
a  bit  of  green  moss  peeping  out  from  among  the  brown 
leaves;  "every  little  thing  that  grows." 

"Yes,"  said  Fanny,  with  a  smile,  "my  Father  made 
them  all." 

Five  minutes'  walk  through  the  woods  brc  ught  them  to 
the  spring,  a  little  stream  that  bubbled  out  of  the  hill-side 
and  trickled  down  into  a  basin  it  had  worn  foi  itself  in  the 
clayey  soil  below.  The  hill  was  covered  with  trees  ;  the 
yellow-leafed  maple,  the  crimson  ash,  and  the  amber  oak, 
were  all  bright  with  the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun  ;  while 
about  their  tops,  and  far  down  the  glen,  where  tb* 


A  U  T  U  M  N     L  E  A  V  E  8  .  93 

stream  went  stealing  along,  there  hung  a  purple  haze,  a 
dim  misty  light,  that  softened  the  landscape,  and  filled 
the  air  with  a  dream-like  repose. 

While  the  children  ran  a  little  way  down  the  stream,  to 
search  for  the  fern  leaves,  Fanny  sat  down  on  an  old  stump 
to  rest.  Their  voices  died  away  in  the  distance,  and  she 
was  enjoying  the  beauties  of  the  scene  alone,  when  a  rust- 
ling among  the  trees  caused  her  to  look  up,  and  a  moment 
after  Maud  appeared  coming  down  the  hill. 

"  You  here,  Maud  ?  I  thought  you  went  with  the  rest 
after  the  ferns,"  said  Fanny. 

"  No,"  said  Maud,  leisurely  chewing  some  winter-green 
leaves,  "  I  've  been  up  yonder  to  Cherry's  grave." 
"  Who  was  Cherry  ?"  inquired  Fanny. 
"  Cherry  was  my  bird.     He  died  in  the  spring,  and  I 
buried  him  up  under  the  maples,"  said  Maud. 

"  Poor  bird !     What  made  him  die  ?"  said  Fanny. 
"  I  don't  know.     I  reckon  it  was  to  plague  me,"  said 
Maud,  swinging  her  sun-bonnet  over  her  head.     u  I  had 
him  about  six  weeks,  and  just  as  I  began  to  love  him,  one 
day  he  up  and  died.     Every  thing  does  just  so." 
"  But  you  find  plenty  left  to  love,  Maud  ?" 
"  No,  I  don't  ever  mean  to  love  any  thing  any  more. 
Pa  said  he  'd  catch  me  another  bird,  but  I  wouldn't  have 
it.     It  would  die  jest  like  the  other.     Every  thing  does. 
I  don't  car'." 

"O,  Maud,  don't  talk  so.  It  isn't  right.  God  has 
given  us  so  many  beautiful  things  to  love,  that  we  have 
no  right  to  complain,  if  now  and  then  He  takes  something 
away.  If  your  bird  and  your  flowers  died,  Maud,  He  has 
left  you  all  your  dear  friends ;  your  father  and  mother  and 
Aunt  Phebe." 

"Aunt  Phebe  will  die,  too,  some  day,"  said  Maud 
"  she  's  always  talkin'  about  it." 


96  WE  STERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

u  We  must  all  die  some  day,  Maud.  If  we  are  ready, 
it  does  n't  much  matter  when." 

44  You  don't  want  to  die,  Miss  Hunter  ?" 
44  JSTo.     I  love  to  live  in  this  beautiful  world,  and  enjoy 
all  the  pleasant  things  God  has  placed  here  for  us ;  but  I 
do  try  to  feel  ready  to  die,  whenever  He  thinks  it  best, 
and  I  pray  to  Him  every  day  to  prepare  me  for  death." 

44  Aunt  Phebe  just  wants  to  die,"  said  Maud.  44 1  wish 
she  would  n't,  neither." 

44  If  we  ever  get  to  Heaven,  Maud,  I  expect  we  shall 
all  wonder  how  we  ever  could  love  this  poor  world  so 
well." 

44  Where  every  thing  dies,"  said  Maud. 

44  Yes,  and  where,  by  taking  away  those  we  love,  God 
is  trying  to  wean  us  from  it,  and  draw  our  hearts  up  to 
Him." 

44  Yonder  's  the  girls,"  said  Maud,  hastily. 

44  O,  such  times !"  cried  Joy,  running  up  with  both 
hands  full  of  fern  leaves.  "  Such  times !  Johnny  fell  in 
the  mud,  and  'Ria  lost  her  shoe  haulin'  him  out,  and  Cal 
snagged  her  coat-tail,  and  I  was  so  full  of  laugh,  I  laid 
right  down  and  rolled." 

44  Snagged  her  coat-tail  ?"  repeated  Fanny,  not  under- 
standing the  nature  of  Cal's  misfortune. 

44  Yes,  jest  see  what  a  great  slit,"  and  Cal  just  then  ap- 
pearing, holding  up  the  torn  garment,  Fanny  understood 
that  she  had  torn  the  skirt  of  her  dress  on  the  bushes. 

"Now  Cal  will  have  something  to  fret  about  for  a 
week,'1  said  'Ria. 

44  O,  no,"  said  Fanny,  examining  the  rent,  44  this  can  be 
easily  mended,  I  think.  And  now,  girls,  straight  for 
home.  See,  the  sun  is  nearly  down,  and  we  have  quite  a 
walk  before  us.  What  a  bunch  we  have  got  here.  Who 
will  help  me  carry  them  ?" 


ADTUMN     LEAVES.  97 

"  I,  and  I,  and  I,"  said  three  or  four  together,  and  shar- 
ing the  bundle  with  all,  that  each  might  have  the  pleasure 
of  obliging  her,  Fanny  took  up  the  line  of  march. 

"  What  ».s  that  ?"  she  asked  suddenly,  as  a  sound  like 
distant  thunder  broke  the  stillness  of  the  air. 

"  Nothin'but  aflock  of  partridges,"  said  Maud  ;  "they 
always  make  that  noise  when  they  rise.  Sometimes  you 
can  hear  'em  half  a  mile  off." 

"  Indeed !  How  do  such  little  creatures  contrive  to 
make  such  a  noise  ?" 

"  They  make  it  with  their  wings,"  said  Cal ;  "  but  they 
ain't  so  very  little,  after  all.  Pave  shot  one  last  week  over 
nine  inches  long,  and  just  as  fat  as  it  could  be." 

"  They  are  pretty  creatures,"  said  Fanny,  "  with  their 
tufted  heads  and  spotted  breasts.  We  call  them  quails  in 
Connecticut,  and  in  the  fall  of  the  year  they  perch  upon  a 
rail-fence  or  an  old  apple-tree,  and  call  out  '  Bob  White! 
Bob  White!'  by  the  hour  together." 

u  That  ain't  what  they  say  here,"  said  Maud.  "  When 
"it's  going  to  rain,  they  sing  out,  'More  wet !  more  wet!1 
and  when  it 's  going  to  be  clear,  then  they  say,  '  No  more 
wet.' " 

"  Perhaps  the  Missouri  partridges  speak  a  different  lan- 
guage from  the  Connecticut  quails,"  said  Fanny,  laughing, 
44  or  rather,  as  somebody's  imagination  supplied  both 
phrases,  it's  just  as  easy  to  fancy  it  to  be  4Bob  White,'  as 
4  more  wet.' " 

"I  never  heard  'em  say  any  thing  but  4More  wet,"* 
said  Maud,  who  never  liked  to  give  up  a  point ;  "  and 
I  'm  sure  it 's  a  great  deal  better  for  'em  to  tell  us  about  the 
weather,  than  to  be  callin'  out, '  Bob  White'  all  the  while." 

"Very  well,  'More  wet,'  be  it,  then,"  said  Fanny. 
<c  Ah,  here  we  are,  most  home  again.  Now  where  shall 
ws  press  our  leaves  ?" 


98  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

A  long  consultation  followed.  There  was  no  room  in 
the  house,  that  was  certain,  neither  were  there  books  to 
press  them  in.  Fanny  thought  newspapers  would  do,  if 
some  heavy,  even  weight,  could  be  found  to  cover  them. 

'Ria  suggested  the  meal-box  in  the  loft,  over  the  school- 
room, and  as  no  better  place  could  be  thought  of,  hither 
they  all  repaired.  A  quantity  of  old  newspapers  were  pro- 
cured, and  at  it  they  went,  Fanny,  upon  her  knees  in  the 
midst,  superintending  the  operations. 

The  leaves  were  laid  smoothly  upon  one  page,  and  care 
folly  covered  with  the  opposite,  then  another  layer  of 
leaves  and  a  layer  of  paper,  and  so  on  till  all  were  nicely 
arranged. 

"I  declare  I  had  n't  the  least  idea  they  were  so  pretty," 
said  'Ria,  as  they  arranged  the  last  layer.  "  Now,  how 
ever  shall  we  lift  this  great,  heavy  box,  half-full  of  meal, 
to  get  them  under  ?" 

44  Lor,  that 's  nothin',"  said  Maud.  "  I  could  'most  do 
it  myself.  If  Miss  Hunter  will  just  slip  the  papers  under 
while 'we  lift  up  this  end,  we'll  have  it  done  in  a  jiffy. 
There,  now,  I  reckon  that 's  heavy  enough  to  smooth  out 
the  wrinkles." 

44  We  've  had  a  grand  time,  have  n't  we  ?"  said  'Ria,  as 
they  ran  across  the  yard. 

44  Yes  indeed,"  said  little  Joy,  "  I  never  see  a  grown 
lady  act  so  much  like  a  little  girl  as  the  new  teacher  doe*. 
She  had  jest  as  much  fun  as  any  of  us." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DISTRESS     IN     DOMESTIC     LIFE. 

Two  weeks  passed,  and  Fanny  became  thoroughly  do 
mesticated  in  Mr.  Catlett's  family.  She  was  often  sur- 
prised herself  at  the  readiness  with  which  she  fell  into 
their  peculiar  way,  for  the  change  from  her  former  mode 
of  life,  could  scarcely  have  been  greater  had  she  been 
suddenly  transported  to  some  foreign  land.  With  perfect 
good  humor,  she  accommodated  herself  to  the  circum- 
stances in  which  she  was  placed,  making  friends  with  all, 
and  in  the  faithful  performance  of  her  daily  duties,  grad- 
ually finding  that  cheerfulness  and  contentment  she  had 
struggled  so  hard  to  attain. 

Yes,  Fanny  was  really  happy,  notwithstanding  those 
doleful  anticipations  in  which  she  indulged  the  first  even- 
ing of  her  arrival.  Her  letters  to  the  parsonage,  which  at 
first,  it  must  be  confessed,  were  rather  sad  in  their  tone, 
soon  grew  more  cheerful,  and  the  anxiety  they  had  excited 
in  the  widow's  heart,  causing  her  to  put  some  close  ques- 
tions as  to  the  real  nature  of  Fanny's  feelings,  was  allayed 
by  the  frank  and  earnest  assurances  of  her  perfect  content. 

There  were  inconveniences  and  little  discomforts,  sucb 
as  she  had  never  known  in  New  England,  but  they  oftener 
afforded  her  amusement  than  any  other  feeling,  and  called 
into  eyercise  all  her  Yankee  ingenuity  in  getting  up  expe- 
dients. 


100  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

For  instance,  when  she  found  that  there  was  neither 
closet,  wardrobe,  or  bureau  in  the  house,  and  her  silk 
dresses  were  in  a  fair  way  to  be  injured  by  lying  folded 
in  her  trunk,  she  set  her  wits  to  work  to  contrive  some 
safe  method  of  storing  them  away.  It  would  never  do 
to  hang  them  about  the  room,  for  Viny  raised  a  furious 
dust  with  her  broom  every  morning,  and  after  a  rain 
the  walls  were  streaked  with  wet.  On  applying  to  Mrs. 
Oatlett,  that  lady  informed  her  rather  coldly  that  Nanny 
kept  her  dresses  in  a  trunk,  and  on  Fanny's  explaining 
that  her  trunks  were  too  closely  packed  to  admit  the  addi« 
tion,  Mrs.  Catlett  showed  so  little  disposition  to  help  her 
that  she  soon  changed  the  subject,  and  determined  to 
contrive  for  herself.  She  wondered  that  Mrs.  Catlett 
should  trouble  herself  so  little  about  the  matter;  but  had 
she  heard  the  lady's  remark  when  she  left  the  room,  the 
mystery  would  have  been  explained. 

"  What  business  has  she  with  her  silk  gowns,  I  should 
like  to  know?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.  "A  teacher  come  all 
this  ways  to  work  for  pay,  and  more  fixy  than  Nanny,  or 
any  of  the  girls." 

In  ignorance  that  she  was  committing  any  crime  by 
possessing  a  respectable  wardrobe,  Fanny  set  herself  to 
work  to  dispose  of  it.  On  climbing  up  into  the  loft,  a 
bright  thought  suggested  itself,  and  running  down  stairs 
she  borrowed  an  old  sheet,  and  tying  the  dresses  therein, 
she  suspended  it  by  the  united  four  corners  from  a  peg  in 
the  center  of  the  low  roof.  Here  it  hung  in  perfect  secu- 
rity, Fanny  surveying  her  contrivance  with  the  greatest 
satisfaction. 

The  trouble  of  keeping  every  article  of  dress  and  the 
toilet  continually  locked  in  her  trunk,  was  not  slight,  but 
this  was  a  precaution  that,  in  Mr.  Catlett's  establishment, 
was  absolutely  necessary. 


DISTRESS    IN    DOMESTIC  *L  IF  E.  101 

"What !  my  comb,  and  brush,  and  work-box,  and  every 
thing,  Nanny?"  she  inquired,  when  t&i,t'  yqujigUa'cly'  was 
impressing  upon  her  the  necessity  of  this  course. 

"  Yes  indeed,  Miss  Fanny  ;  if  you  don't  want  'em  took, 
and  used,  and  mebbe  carried  off,  for  good  and  all.  There^s 
no  keepin'  any  thing  here,  unless  it 's  under  lock  and  key. 
Servants  are  so  thievish!  Ours  ain't  a  bit  worse  thaii 
other  people's ;  they  are  all  jest  alike,  takin*  every  thing 
they  can  lay  their  hands  on,  and  you  know  they  are  al- 
ways pryin'  round." 

Fanny  accordingly  locked  up  every  thing,  and  after  two 
or  three  losses  occasioned  by  her  own  carelessness,  she 
grew  as  careful  as  the  rest.  The  children  each  had  their 
own  separate  trunks,  and  even  little  Joy  went  about  with 
a  key  dangling  from  her  neck  by  a  long  string.  As  for 
Mrs.r  Catlett,  she  bore  upon  her  arm  a  basket  of  keys, 
heavy  enough  to  weigh  her  down,  and  never  was  it  out 
of  her  sight  three  minutes  at  a  time,  unless,  as  occasion- 
ally happened,  she  went  visiting,  and  left  Miss  Nanny  in 
charge  of  the  house. 

Fanny  found  many  things  to  excite  her  wonder  in  Mrs. 
Catlett's  household  arrangements,  and  though  she  did  not 
undergo  Miss  Ophelia's  trials,  in  rummaging  Aunt  Dinah's 
kitchen,  she  saw  enough  of  the  shiftless,  slovenly  manner 
in  which  things  were  done,  to  shock  all  her  New  England 
ideas  of  neatness  and  order.  Then,  too,  their  old-fashioned 
ways,  clinging  to  the  customs  and  habits  of  their  Vir- 
ginia ancestors,  and  rejecting  all  the  laborsaving  ma- 
chines of  the  present  day ;  not  only  doing  every  thing  in 
the  hardest  possible  manner,  but  persisting  in  calling  it 
the  best ;  all  this  excited  her  amusement  and  wonder. 
She  was  sometimes  seized  with  the  impression,  that  she 
was  carried  back  fifty  years,  so  greatly  were  they  behind 
the  age,  and  so  nearly  did  some  of  their  customs  corre- 


102  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

ppond  with'  what 'she  :had  heard  her  grandmother  relate 
x>f  iier  .young  days. ' ' 

There  was  not  a  stove  on  the  premises.  A  large  open 
fireplace  extended  half  across  the  room,  and  scorched 
one's  face  with  the  heat  from  burning  logs,  while  the 
breezes  whistled  round  back  and  feet  most  merrily.  A 
decanter  of  whisky,  and  half  a  dozen  glasses,  stood  always 
upon  the  sideboard  for  the  entertainment  of  visitors,  and 
the  gentlemen,  and  frequently  lady  guests,  were  invited 
to  take  a  drink. 

"  Viny,"  said  Fanny  one  day,  as  she  was  passing 
through  the  yard,  where  the  girl  was  washing,  "why 
don't  you  have  a  bench  to  set  your  tub  on,  and  not  wash 
with  it  on  the  ground?  I  should  think  it  would  break 
your  back." 

"  I  neber  heered  ob  sich,"  said  Viny,  with  a  grin ; 
"  what  de  use,  anyhow  ?  ground  good  nufF  to  wash  on, 
Miss  Fanny." 

"  Yes,  but  it 's  so  much  harder.  Then  there  's  Aunt 
Tibby,  she  has  n't  a  bit  of  a  table  in  th«  kitchen,  and 
makes  up  all  her  bread  and  pies  with  the  rolling-board 
flat  on  the  floor." 

"  Dat's  de  way,  Miss  Fanny  ;  don't  want  no  table  luiii- 
berin'  up  de  kitchen." 

"  And  bakes  every  thing,  bread  and  cake,  and  all,  m 
one  little  bake-kettle.  I  don't  see  how  she  ever  gets 
through." 

"  Lors,  Miss  Fanny,  every  body  on  de  prairie  does  jest 
BO.  You  see  we 's  allers  used  to  it — dat's  de  reason." 

Another  cause  of  wonder  to  Fanny,  was  the  strict  at- 
tention paid  by  all  the  family  to  old  Madam  Hester.  Kind, 
respectful  treatment,  such  as  old  age  and  infirmity  always 
demands,  would  not  have  surprised  her ;  but  Mrs.  Catlett's 
eager,  almost  servile  attention  to  her  slightest  wants,  and 


DISTRESS    IN    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  103 

the  reverence  with  which  all  appeared  to  regard  her,  ex- 
cited her  curiosity. 

One  evening  after  the  children  had  gone  to  bed,  and 
the  old  woman,  in  the  midst  of  her  rambling  talk,  was  led 
up  stairs,  Fanny  ventured  to  broach  the  subject. 

"  Mrs.  Catlett,"  she  said,  "  how  long  has  Madam  Hester 
been  in  your  family  ?" 

"  How  long  ?  well,  let  me  see.  Aunt  Mercy  died  two 
years  before  we  moved  to  Carolville,  and  that  was  eleven, 
yes,  twelve  years  next  June.  I  remember,  because  Cal 
was  a  baby,  born  the  very  week  Madam  Hester  came  here 
to  live.  How  I  did  fret,  for  fear  she'd  go  to  Cousin 
Wortley's.  They  were  n't  so  nigh  of  kin,  neither  ;  but  I 
reckon  if  Mr.  Catlett  rode  over  there  once,  he  went  twenty 
times  to  see  about  it." 

"  What  relation  is  she  to  you,  Mrs.  Catlett  ?" 

"  She  was  own  aunt  to  my  mother,  Miss  Fanny.  You 
see  my  grandmother  Wortley  was  a  Mason,  and  Abby 
Mason,  that  was  her  own  sister,  married  Paytere  Peters, 
son  of  Governor  Peters.  Madam  Hester  is  own  grand- 
daughter to  Governor  Peters  of  Virginia." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Fanny,  seeing  that  she  was  expected  to 
aay  something. 

"  Yes,  and  there  is  n't  any  better  blood  in  Virginia  than 
runs  in  b<*r  veins.  I  tell  you,  Governor  Peters  stood  among 
the  first.  I  've  heard  my  grandmother  tell  about  his  house 
down  in  Richmond  county.  She  used  to  tell  about  his 
piles  of  silver  plate,  and  the  great  dming-hall  where  they 
never  s- 1  less  than  twenty  at  table,  and  the  carriage  he 
rode  in,  with  silver  mountings,  and  his  blood-horses  and 
all  that.  I  've  sat  and  listened  to  her  hours  and  hours." 

"An   >ld  Virginia  gentleman,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Ye?  and  when  the  war  came,  then  he  lost  it  all.  The 
British  jjst  went  through  that  part  of  Virginia,  and  plan- 


104  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

dered  every  gentleman's  house  on  the  road.  The  old  gov- 
ernor was  gone,  and  the  women  folks  and  the  servants  were 
all  there  were  in  the  house — and  they  had  to  run  off  in 
the  woods,  and  hide  to  save  their  lives.  Madam  Hester 
and  Mercy  were  little  bits  of  things ;  but  before  she  lost 
her  mind,  she  used  to  tell  how  they  stayed  there  in  the 
woods  all  night,  and  how  her  mother  and  grandmother 
cried  and  sobbed,  when  they  saw  the  sky  red  with  the 
burning  house.  Well,  they  just  lost  every  thing.  When 
they  crept  back,  it  was  nothing  but  a  pile  of  srnokin'  ruins. 
The  plate  and  the  beautiful  furniture,  and  every  thing  waa 
all  gone.  They  said  the  old  governor  never  got  over  it. 
He  let  every  thing  run  to  waste,  and,  before  he  died,  was 
a  poor  man." 

"  And  Madarn  Hester  ?" 

"  O,  her  father  owned  a  place  down  in  lowei  Virginia, 
and  they  all  went  there  to  live.  When  he  died,  she  and 
Aunt  Mercy  kept  on  with  it  as  well  as  they  could  ;  but 
you  see  the  land  was  mostly  run  out,  and  they  had  to  sell 
a  servant  or  two  every  year  to  make  out  a  livin'.  I  don't 
know  exactly  how  it  came  about,  but  when  Aunt  Mercy 
died,  the  place  would  n't  hardly  pay  the  debts,  and  Madam 
Hester  was  left  without  a  penny  in  the  world-." 

"  Was  she  ever  married  ?" 

"  No,  she  was  going  to  be  once,  they  said,  but  her  lover 
d;ed  in  the  wars,  and  she  never  found  another  to  suit  her. 
They  say  she  was  one  of  the  handsomest  women  in  Vir- 
ginia, as  proud  and  stately  as  a  king's  daughter,  and  the 
best  dancer  in  all  the  country." 

Fanny  recalled  the  image  of  the  hideous,  decrepit  old 
creature  who  had  just  left  them,  and  wondered  it  she  ever 
could  have  been  beautiful  and  graceful;  if  the  face  now 
yellow  and  wrinkled,  could  ever  have  called  forth  praises 
by  its  beauty  and  bloom,  or  if  that  form  now  bent  and  those 


A   DECAYED    SPECIMEN   OF   VIRGINIA   ARISTOCRACY. 


DISTRESS    IN    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  105 

limbs  now  tottering,  carried  off  once  the  palm  in  the  dance. 
She  was  going  off  in  a  reverie,  when  Mrs.  Catlett's  voice 
recalled  her. 

"My  mother  was  always  proud  of  her  kin,"  she  said; 
"  but  I  believe  the  old  lady  would  have  been  ready  to 
jump  out  of  her  skin,  if  she  had  thought  we  should  have 
a  grand-daughter  of  Governor  Peters  of  Virginia  living 
with  us  in  the  house  twelve  years." 

"  It  is  very  kind  in  you  to  take  care  of  her  in  her  old 
age,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Very  kind  in  us !"  repeated  Mrs.  Catlett,  in  great  sur- 
prise. "  What  do  you  mean  ?  It 's  an  honor,  let  me 
tell  you,  Miss  Hunter,  that  don't  happen  to  a  family  every 
day.  Kind,  indeed  ;  any  body  might  be  proud  of  having 
a  grand-daughter  of  Governor  Peters,  of  Virginia,  under 
their  roof!" 

Fanny  was  greatly  abashed  at  her  mistake,  and  with  an 
apology  for  her  stupidity,  took  up  her  candle,  and  bade 
Mrs.  Catlett  good-night. 

So  intently  was  she  meditating  upon  the  honor  of  enter- 
taining a  grand-daughter  of  Governor  Peters,  of  Virginia, 
that  she  did  not  observe  the  obstacle  in  her  way,  and  had 
nearly  fallen  over  a  little  heap  curled  up  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs.  Quickly  recovering  herself,  she  stooped  down  to 
gee  what  it  was,  and  recognized  black  Tilla,  her  head  resting 
upon  the  floor,  and  her  little  bare  feet  drawn  up  under  her. 

"  Why,  Tilla,  is  this  you  ?"  said  Fanny.  "  What 's  the 
natter  ?» 

"  O !  miz'ry !"  said  Tilla. 

"  What  is  it,  Tilla  ?     Are  you  sick  ?" 

"  Mighty  poorly !"  said  the  child,  in  a  hopeless  tone. 

"  Well,  why  don't  you  go  to  bed  ?  Come,  don't  he 
there,"  said  Fanny,  attempting  to  lift  her. 

<'  O  !  don't,  Miss  Fanny,  please,"  said  Tilla.  "  If  yo  J 

5* 


106  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

jest  would  n't  touch  me.  I 's  got  such  a  misery  in  my 
side." 

"  Well,  don't  you  know  it  will  make  it  worse  to  lie  out 
here  in  the  cold  ?  You  must  come  in  by  the  fire." 

"  I  jest  don't  want  to  stir,"  said  Tilla.  "  O  !  mis'ry,  I  'a 
BO  bad !" 

"  Tilla,  get  up  this  instant,  and  come  in  by  the  fire," 
said  Fanny,  in  a  tone  of  command. 

The  child  obeyed,  rising  with  difficulty,  and  once  or 
twice  repeating  the  exclamation  of  suffering. 

"  Now,  Tilla,"  said  Fanny,  after  making  her  as  comfort- 
able as  she  could,  with  a  piece  of  old  carpet  and  a  quilt 
from  her  own  bed,  "now,  Tilla,  don't  you  lie  out  in  the 
cold  again  when  you  are  sick." 

"  Miss  Cal  done  kick  me  out !"  said  Tilla. 

Fanny  groaned  in  spirit.  She  had  that  morning  given 
her  scholars  a  lecture  upon  cruelty  to  animals. 

"  I  hate  Miss  Cal,"  said  Tilla,  an  expression  of  malignity 
crossing  her  features.  "  I  hates  'em  all,  I  do.  Lors ! 
what  if  Miss  Car'line  hear  me  say  dat  ?" 

"  Hush,  Tilla,  you  must  n't  talk  so  ;  it 's  wicked." 

"  I  does,  Miss  Fanny.     O  !  mis'ry  !" 

"  Do  you  feel  so  very  bad,  Tilla  ?" 

"  Mighty  poorly  !"  said  Tilla,  the  same  old,  hopeless  ex- 
pression returning  to  her  face. 

"  Why  don't  you  tell  Aunt  Phebe,  and  let  her  give  you 
something  to  make  you  well  ?" 

"  She  can't,  Miss  Fanny.     She  says  it 's  in  my  bones." 

"  Does  Mrs.  Catlett  know  you  are  sick,  Tilla  ?" 

"Who?  Miss  Car'line.  She  don't  car'.  She  won't 
hear  to  me,  when  I  telled  her  I 's  sick.  She  say  *t  ain't 
nothin'  but  lazy,  and  she  cuff  me  roun',  and  call  me  names, 
and  Massa  Dave  he  say,  'I  wish  she  's  under  ground.'  I 
wish  I  was  dar,  too,"  said  Tilla. 


DISTRESS    IN    DOMESTIC    LIFE.  107 

"  O  !  Tilla !» 

"  I  does,  'cause  I's  in  ebery  body's  way,  and  tbar  don't 
nobody  car'  for  me,  not  de  fus  one,  only  Marthy,  and  dey 
hates  her  too." 

"  There  's  one  that  loves  you,  Tilla.  Did  you  ever  hear 
about  Jesus  Christ  ?" 

"I's  heered  Aunt  Phebe  tell." 

"  And  how  He  left  his  beautiful  home  up  in  the  sky,  and 
came  down  and  suffered,  and  died,  for  just  such  poor  little 
ones  as  you.  He  loves  you,  Tilla.  He  says,  '  Suffer  little 
children  to  come  unto  Me,  and  forbid  them  not.'  He 
wants  you  to  be  good,  and  He  will  be  a  kind  friend  to 
you,  and  by-and-by  take  you  to  a  beautiful  world,  where 
you  will  never  be  sick  any  more,  or  feel  pain  and  trouble 
again.  You 've  heard  about  heaven,  Tilla?" 

"  Aunt  Phebe  sings  about  a  holy  city,  'way  up  above  the 
Bky." 

"  Can  you  say  the  rest  ?" 

Tilia  repeated  a  verse  of  a  familiar  camp-meeting  hymn : 

u  *  There  is  a  holy  city 

'Way  up  above  the  sky, 
A  bright  and  shining  temple, 

Where  Jesus  dwells  on  high ; 
And  all  the  saints  are  shouting, 

Arrayed  in  robes  of  white ; 
With  golden  harps  to  praise  Him, 

They  dwell  with  Him  in  light' " 

"  And  don't  you  want  to  go  there,  and  be  one  of  those 
bright  angels  ?" 

"  O !  yes !  Miss  Fanny,"  said  Tilla,  clasping  her  little 
ihin  hands,  while  the  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks. 

"  Well,  then,  you  must  be  one  of  God's  own  children ! 
You  must  try  to  be  like  this  blessed  Jesus,  gentle,  and 


108  WESTERN    BOBBER    LIFE. 

kind,  and  loving,  even  to  those  who  are  unkind  to  you. 
This  is  the  way  Jesus  did ;  and  when  wicked  men  beat 
Him  and  spit  on  Him,  and  nailed  Him  to  the  cross,  till  He 
died,  He  forgave  them,  and  prayed  for  them.  Will  you 
try  to  be  like  Him,  Tilla  ?» 

"  O  !  Miss  Fanny,  I  can't,"  said  Tilla.  "  I  spec'  I  never 
get  thar,  anyhow.  Thar  can't  nobody  be  good,  when 
fcvery  body's  a  jawin'  an'  crackin'  'em  round  all  day. 
Dey  all  hates  me.  'Pears  like  I  must  hate  'em  back  agin, 
>T  ain't  no  odds,  anyhow.  O  !  mis'ry !" 

"  Tilla,  did  you  ever  ask  God  to  help  you  to  be  good  ?" 

"  Don'  know  how." 

"  Will  you  kneel  right  down  now,  and  shut  your  eyes, 
and  say  a  little  prayer  after  me  ?" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Fanny." 

She  knelt  upon  the  floor,  and  clasping  her  thin  hands, 
solemnly  repeated  the  few  simple  words  Fanny  uttered, 
then  sinking  down  upon  her  bed,  was  fast  asleep  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

Fanny  gazed  upon  the  puny  face,  retaining  even  in  sleep 
its  sorrowful,  care-worn  expression,  and  then  drawing  the 
scanty  covering  over  her  bare  feet,  she  left  the  ch'id  to 
her  repose. 


CHAPTER  X. 

HOME     FROM     KANZAS. 

morning  Mrs.  Catlett  rose  in  a  particularly 
humor.  It  was  a  cold  wet  day,  the  fire  was  slow  in  burn- 
ing, the  baby  cross,  and  Martha  and  Tilla  half  asleep. 
Fanny  woke  with  a  confused  idea  that  something  unpleas- 
ant was  going  on  below,  and  the  fretful  tones  of  Mrs.  Cat- 
lett's  voice,  mingling  with  the  patter  of  the  rain  against 
the  windows,  suggested  the  idea  of  that  "  continual  drop- 
ping that  weareth  away  a  stone."  She  opened  her  eyes, 
wide  enough  to  see  that  it  was  barely  light,  and  was  sink- 
ing away  into  another  doze,  when  a  loud  exclamation  from 
Mrs.  Catlett,  followed  by  a  rush  of  little  feet  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  passage,  awakened  all  the  sleepers,  and  the 
next  moment  Martha  burst  into  the  room,  her  face  beam- 
ing with  delight. 

"  0,  Miss  Nanny,  you  all  get  right  up ;  Massa  Jack  done 
come !"  she  cried. 

They  needed  not  a  second  bidding.  All  were  out  of 
bed  in  an  instant,  hurrying  on  their  clothes,  and  overpow- 
ering Martha  with  questions  which  they  could  not  wait 
for  her  to  answer.  "When  did  he  come?"  "How  long 
has  he  been  here  ?"  "  What  did  ma  say  ?"  "  O  how 
glad  I  am !" 

"  Don5  no  nothin'  'bout  it,"  said  Martha,  "  only  Miss 
Car'line  she  go  inter  de  passage  to  undo  de  fron'  door,  an' 


110  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

O  my  !  what  a  screamin',  an'  de  nex'  minit  Mass'  Jack 
come  walkin'  in." 

"O  dear,  where  is  that  Viny,"  said  Joy,  nearly  crying 
with  vexation ;  "  I  never  can  fasten  these  hooks,  and 
every  body  '11  be  dressed  first.  Do  somebody  help  me." 
Fanny  fastened  the  troublesome  dress,  braided  Maud's 
hair,  and  tied  a  hanging  shoe-string,  and  then,  after  all 
had  gone,  proceeded  more  leisurely  with  her  own  toilet. 

"  I  wonder  if  1  shall  like  him,"  she  thought,  as  she  stood 
*  moment  at  the  window  before  going  down.  Women 
were  hurrying  to  and  from  the  kitchen,  while  in  the  door- 
way stood  Tibby,  stirring  up  the  batter  bread  for  break- 
fast, and  two  or  three  of  the  men,  with  axes  on  their 
shoulders,  lingered  about,  waiting  for  a  word  from  "Mass' 
Jack."  All  seemed  full  of  joyful  excitement.  "  They  are 
glad  to  see  him,"  thought  Fanny,  "  that  is  a  good  sign ;" 
and  putting  a  few  finishing  touches  to  her  dress,  she  hast- 
ened down  stairs. 

The  room  was  looking  very  bright  and  cheerful,  a  good 
fire  burning  on  the  hearth,  and  the  table  spread  for  break- 
fast. With  his  back  to  the  fire,  his  hands  crossed  behind 
him,  stood  the  master  of  the  house.  He  was  a  muscular, 
broad-shouldered  man,  full  six  feet  high,  dressed  in  clothes 
a  good  deal  the  worse  for  wear,  and  a  hat  slouched  over 
his  eyes.  His  face  was  rough  with  a  week's  growth  of 
beard,  and  a  large  quid  of  tobacco  disfigured  one  cheek, 
but  his  features  were  not  unpleasing,  and  there  was  a 
good-humored  twinkle  in  his  gray  eye,  as  he  looked  down 
apon  the  new  teacher. 

"  Well,  come  on,"  he  said,  after  staring  at  her  a  moment 
as  she  stood  timidly  upon  the  lower  stair.  "  What  are 
you  afraid  of?" 

Fanny  advanced,  and  gave  him  her  hand. 

"Why  you  are  a  young .  thing,  ain't  you?"  said  Mr, 


HOME    FROM    KANZAS.  Ill 

Catlett,  looking  down  upon  her  as  a  bear  might  eye  a 
mouse.     "  Well,  what  are  you  doing  out  here,  hey  ?" 

"  Trying  to  drive  a  little  knowledge  into  your  children's 
heads,"  said  Fanny  with  spirit,  for  she  was  not  pleased 
with  her  reception. 

"  Whew !"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  starting  back  in  mock 
alarm.  "  Sharp,  now,  ain't  you  ?  A  Yankee  girl,  cut  and 
dried,  from  Connecticut,  hey?" 

"  Now,  Mr.  Catlett,  do  be  quiet,"  said  his  wife.  "  Miss 
Fanny  don't  know  how  to  take  your  jokes.  Just  let  her 
alone,  and  tell  us  when  you  got  here.  The  children  have 
kept  up  such  a  clatter  I  hav  n't  found  a  chance  to  put  in  a 
word." 

"Well,  marm,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  "as  nigh  ah  I  can 
guess — ain't  that  what  you  Yankees  say,  Miss — what 's 
your  name  ? — I  got  here  between  twelve  and  one  o'clock 
last  night." 

"  But  why  in  the  world  could  n't  you  let  us  know  you 
was  here  ?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  "  and  not  lie  out  in  the 
porch  all  night.  How  do  you  reckon  I  found  him,  Miss 
Fanny,  when  I  went  to  undo  the  door  ?  There  he  lay, 
curled  up  on  the  floor,  as  fast  as  a  log.  I  reckon  he  '11  be 
down  sick  with  a  chill  to-morrow." 

"Miss  Calacanthus  don't  you  fret,"  said  her  husband. 
"Do  you  s'pose  I  wanted  such  a  screechin'  and  screamin' 
in  the  middle  of  the  night,  as  you  women  always  get  up 
at  such  times,  with  every  chick  and  child  on  the  place 
raisin'  hob  generally.  I  just  lopped  down  there  to  have 
a  quiet  nap  before  morning.  Come,  ma,  tell  some  of  them 
women  to  toat  in  breakfast.  I  want  to  eat.  O,  Madam 
Hester,  how  do  you  find  yourself?"  he  continued,  advan> 
ing  to  shake  hands  with  the  old  creature. 

She  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  his  voice,  and  a  gleam 
of  something  like  intelligence  passed  over  her  face. 


112  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  O  ho,  you  have  come,"  she  said.  "  You  have  been 
gone  a  long  time,  a  mighty  long  time,  and  there  's  them 
that's  been  a  watchin'  and  a  waitin',  but  they  are  in  their 
graves — O  ho."  She  shook  her  head  feebly,  and  tottered 
to  her  seat. 

"She  gets  more  wanderiri'  every  day,  Mr.  Catlett. 
It  seems  like  she  was  failing  fast." 

"  No  good  will  come  on  5t,"  said  the  old  woman  sud- 
denly. "  I  always  telled  them  no  good  would  come  on 't. 
Always  a  goin',  never  contented  to  stop  in  any  place.  I 
telled  them  they  'd  rue  the  day  they  sent  the  boy  off  to 
seek  his  fortin." 

"There,  Mr.  Catlett,  that's  jnst  the  wa^  she  puts  in 
lately,  'specially  when  we  say  any  thing  about  Dave  's  going 
away.  I  declare,  she  scares  me  sometimes — " 

"  You  are  easily  scared,  then,"  said  her  husband.  "  Can't 
you  see  it 's  old  times  she 's  talkin'  about  ?" 

"  It  ain't  no  use,"  said  Madam  Hester,  "  I  tell  yet  I  've 
warned  'em  ag'in  and  ag'in,  but  it  runs  in  the  family,  and 
them  chat's  fated  is  fated.  There's  trouble  ahead,  O  ho — " 

u  There,  now  I  hope  she 's  done,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett. 
"  1 5m  sure  I  think  heaps  of  Madam  Hester,  but  I  can't 
help  thinkin'  times,  that  she  's  like  a  black  raven  sittin' 
there  in  the  chimney  corner,  croakin'  out  evil.  She  's  al- 
ways sayin'  something  gloomy." 

"  Fiddlesticks !  women  are  always  pickin'  up  something 
to  fret  about.  Come,  now,  let 's  have  breakfast,  and  let 
Madam  Hester  alone." 

"  O,  pa,  did  you  know  what  a  great  hole  you  have  got 
in  your  hat  ?  Two  of  'em,  right  opposite  each  other," 
said  Cal,  holding  up  the  unfortunate  beaver. 

"Gracious!  Mr.  Catlett,  it's  a  bullet- hole,"  said  hii 
wife;  "where  have  you  been?  Did  you  get  into  a 
fight  ?" 


HOME     FROM     KANZAS.  113 

*c  Hold  your  tongue,"  said  her  husband ;  "  it 's  none  of 
your  business  where  I  've  been  ;  and  put  down  that  hat^ 
child,  this  minute,  and  come  to  breakfast." 

"  Pa  puts  his  elbows  on  the  table,"  whispered  little 
Johnny. 

"  What 's  that  you  say,  jackanapes  ?" 

Johnny  hung  his  head. 

"  Speak  up,  can't  you,"  said  his  father. 

"  Miss  Fanny  says  we  ought  n't  to  put  our  elbows  on 
the  table,  and  you  do,"  said  Johnny,  timidly. 

"  So  that's  it,  is  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  his  good  humor 
apparently  restored  ;  "  our  Connecticut  school-marm 
teaches  the  young  ones  better  manners  than  their  dad- 
dy's. Well,  so  it  goes.  By  the  way,  wife,  have  you  had 
any  pumpkin-bread  yet  ?" 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  "  they  have  n't  toated 
up  the  pumpkins.  I  reckon  it 's  time,  though." 

"  Nor  any  onions  ?"  said  Mr.  Catlett. 

"  Lors  no !  what  are  you  drivin'  at,  Mr.  Catlett  V" 

"  No  wonder  Miss  What's-her-name  's  a  trifle  home-sick. 
Bless  you,  wife,  we  must  have  pumpkin-bread  for  a  week 
to  come.  You  see  Miss  Fandango,"  said  Mr.  Catlett, 
gravely,  "  we  've  got  half  an  acre  of  pumpkins,  and  a  pow- 
erful big  bed  of  onions,  so  you  need  n't  go  to  sighin'  for 
the  leeks  and  garlics  of  Weatherstield.  Ain't  that  where 
they  go  it  so  strong  in  the  onion  line  ?" 

"  Mr.  Catlett,  ain't  you  ashamed,"  said  his  wife ;  "  yoa 
fairly  make  Miss  Fanny  blush." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  "  I  want  to  see 
a  little  Yankee  bloom  now  and  then.  The  chills  don't 
leave  much  on  the  Missouri  girls'  cheeks." 

"  Pa,  you  don't  call  her  right,"  said  Johnny;  "hernanu 
is  Miss  Fanny." 


114  WESTERN    BORDER     LIFE. 

u  Well,  that  ain't  much  of  a  name,  Johnny.  I  want  to 
improve  it." 

"  It 's  a  right  pretty  name,  I  think,"  said  Johnny. 

"  What  in  patience  have  you  been  doin'  to  that  nig- 
ger ?"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  as  Tilla  brought  round  her  young 
fcystress's  plate;  "she  looks  as  ashy  as  Tib's  lye-kettle, 
and  as  doleful  as  a  tomb-stone." 

"  She  always  looks  that  way,"  said  his  wife.  "  She  'a 
the  ugliest  brat  on  the  place.  I  believe  she  tries  tu 
look  just  as  bad  as  she  can  to  pester  me.  See  her 
now,  with  her  forehead  puckered  up  and  her  mouth 
drawn  down  like  an  old  woman.  I  can't  bear  the  sight 
of  her."  * 

"  Well,  what 's  the  matter,  anyhow  ?" 

"Nothing  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  sharply.  "She 
puts  on,  and  makes  believe  she 's  sick,  to  get  shet  of 
work,  I  reckon  ;  though,  goodness  knows,  she  has  little 
enough  to  do." 

"  O,  Mass'  Jack,"  said  Martha,  stopping  suddenly  with 
a  plate  of  batter-cakes  in  her  hand,  "  she  is  sick.  She  's 
right  sick.  Dat's  what  makes  her  look  so." 

uHold  your  tongue,  you  jade,"  said  her  mistress; 
"  how  dare  you  contradict  me  ?" 

"  Please,  Miss  Car'line,  I  did  n't  mean  no  harm.  I 
reckoned  you  did  n't  see  how  bad  she  was  gettinV 

"  I  see  how  saucy  you  are  gettin',  and  I  '11  take  you 
down  a  peg,  too,  if  you  don't  mind  yourself." 

"  Come,  come,  ma,  let  a  fellow  have  one  quiet  day,  can't 
you,  before  you  let  off  steam,"  said  Mr.  Catlett ;  "  and 
try  to  put  a  little  grease  on  to  that  young  one,  for  the 
credit  of  the  place.  The  crows  would  n't  pick  her  as  she 
is  now." 

"  Mass'  Jack,"  said  Martha,  following  him  as  he  saun- 
tered out  into  the  back  porch,  "  if  you  only  would  tell 


HOME    FROM     KANZAS.  115 

Miss  Car'line,  Tilla  's  sure  enough  sick.  She  won't  hear 
to  me,  nor  Miss  Fanny." 

"  It 's  none  of  my  business,  Marthy,"  said  Mr.  Catlett ; 
"  I  never  interfere  with  the  house-servants." 

"  Jest  this  once,  Mass'  Jack." 

"  Marthy,  what  are  you  foolin'  about  out  there  ?"  said 
Mrs.  Catlett's  angry  voice. 

Martha  looked  wistfully  in  her  master's  face,  but  its 
careless  good-humored  expression,  gave  her  no  encourage- 
ment to  brave  her  mistress's  wrath,  and  slowly  and  sadly 
she  returned  to  her  presence. 

"  Dave,  where 's  them  crack  dogs  you  was  tellin'  about?" 
said  Mr.  Catlett,  lounging  in  the  doorway  where  Dave 
was  feeding  the  hounds. 

Dave  gave  a  low  whistle.  "  Here,  Othor,"  he  said,  as  a 
large  tan-colored  dog  bounded  toward  them. 

"  There  's  a  hound !"  said  Dave,  admiringly.  "  Look 
at  that  head,  will  you?  and  his  chest.  There's  some 
breadth  there." 

"  They  ain't  bad,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  examining  the  dog 
critically. 

"  No,"  said  Dave.  "  You  ought  to  see  that  dog  run. 
The  way  he  clears  the  ground  is  n't  slow.  The  first  time 
I  took  him  out  was  the  day  after  you  left.  There  was  I, 
and  Mack,  and  the  Turner  boys  along.  We  took  their 
two  dogs  and  this  fellow.  Bob  Turner  's  always  crackin' 
up  his  dogs,  you  know,  and  they  are  prime  to  run,  Well, 
sir,  we  started  a  deer.  I  had  the  stand  down  by  the  hol- 
low, at  the  edge  of  the  oak  thicket.  I  waited  about  half 
an  hour,  when  I  heard  a  crashing  in  the  under-brush,  and 
next  minute  a  full-grown  buck  came  out  of  the  thicket 
within  three  rods  of  me.  I  fired  and  missed.  I  tell  you 
I  felt  streaked.  I  reckoned,  of  course,  I  'd  seen  the  last 
of  him,  and  was  cussin'  my  bad  luck,  when  Othor  dashed 


116  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

by  me  on  the  full  run.  I  knew  he  was  n't  far  behind,  for 
I  heard  his  voice  in  the  woods.  But  what  do  you  think  ? 
Just  as  he  was  goin'  it.  full  split  one  way,  here  comes  the 
deer  back  the  other.  Something  had  turned  him,  you 
see  ;  he  doubled,  and  wanted  to  take  to  the  thicket  again. 
Othor  met  him  about  half  way  down  the  hollow.  I  tell 
you  't  was  a  picture.  The  buck  stood  with  his  head  down 
and  his  feet  close  together,  and  the  hair  on  the  ridge  of 
his  back  bristling  like  a  wild  cat's ;  and  Othor  squatted 
flat  on  the  ground,  and  cocked  his  head  one  side,  kind- 
er knowin'  like,  but  his  eyes  watchin'  the  other  ake  a 
rattlesnake's  just  afore  it  springs.  Well,  sir,  they  looked 
at  each  other  about  a  minute,  and  the  deer  made  his 
first  bound.  Just  then  my  ball  hit  him.  He  staggered  a 
little,  and  Othor  had  him  by  the  neck  directly,  and  held 
him  down  till  I  cut  his  throat.  I  never  felt  afraid  for 
that  dog's  spunk  afterward." 

Mr.  Catlett  heard  the  story  with  deep  attention. 

"  Well,  here 's  another,"  he  said.  u  What  kind  of  a 
crittur  is  this  ?" 

"  O  !  that  dog  is  prime !  Here,  Uno,  you  must  have  a 
word,  must  you  ?"  A  beautiful  black  hound,  spotted 
with  white,  trotted  up  with  a  low  whine,  and  thrust  his 
cold  nose  in  his  master's  hand. 

"There,  sir,  that  dog  and  his  mate — they  are  just  alike, 
you  see — I  reckon  will  beat  any  thing  on  the  prairie. 
They  are  young  yet,  and  I  hav  n't  tried  'em  at  runnin',  but 
if  they  turn  out  as  well  as  they  promise,  they  '11  go  a  leetle 
ahead  of  any  thing  we  've  seen  yet.  You  see  they  are 
lighter  built  than  Othor,  but  just  look  at  their  muscles, 
you  won't  find  much  fat  there." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  "  you  've  kept  'em  as  thin  as 
rails." 

"  That 's  the  nature  of  'em,  you  see.     They  are  just  cut 


II  O  M  E     F  tt  0  M.     K  A  N  X  A  rt  ,  117 

out  for  runnin'.  Such  knowin'  fellows,  too.  That  dog, 
Uno,  all  but  talks." 

"  What  do  you  call  'em?"  said  Mr.  Catlett. 

"Uno  and  Ino,"  said  Dave — "right  knowin^  names, 
ain't  they  ?" 

"Who  named  'em?" 

"  Well,  I  was  tryin'  to  think  of  some  good  names  for 
'em,  and  Miss  Fanny  she  thought  of  these — I  called  'em 
go  right  off." 

"  Pretty  good." 

Just  then  Fanny  appeared  on  her  way  to  the  school- 
house,  followed  by  all  the  children.  The  dog  no  sooner 
perceived  her,  than  he  left  Dave,  and  bounded  to  her  side. 
Fanny  laid  down  her  book,  and  stooped  to  caress  him.  It 
was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  them  together,  the  slender  girl, 
and  the  great  gaunt  hound  fondling  her  little  hand,  and 
yielding  his  noble  head  to  her  caresses. 

•  o 

Dave  hastened  forward  to  pick  up  her  book,  and  taking 
an  autumn  blossom  which  he  had  found  somewhere  in  the 
woods,  from  his  button-hole,  he  gave  it  to  her.  She 
thanked  him  by  an  exclamation  of  delight,  and  a  look  from 
her  brown  eyes  that  Dave  remembered  all  day. 

"  It 's  mighty  queer,"  he  said,  after  she  had  disappeared 
in  the  school-house,  "  that  dog  took  to  her  from  the  very 
first,  and  he  never  seemed  to  notice  any  other  woman." 

"  Dogs  and  boys  sometimes  do  mighty  foolish  things," 
said  Mr.  Catlett,  dryly,  "  but  how  does  she  work  it,  sure 
enough  ?  Keep  any  thing  of  a  school  ?" 

"  Well,  you  'd  think  so.  I  never  see  any  thing  like  it. 
When  she  first  came  here,  I  reckoned  she  would  n't  make 
it  go  at  all.  She  looked  so  young,  and  had  such  childish 
ways  with  her,  I  reckoned  our  young  ones  would  get  the 
upper  hand  the  first  thing,  but  it 's  right  the  other  way. 
I  never  could  see  how  she  manages  it,  fof  out  of  school 


118  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

she  carries  on  with  'em  like  she  was  as  young  as  any  ;  but 
you  can't  hire  'em  to  do  any  thing  she  don't  like.  I  don't 
see  how  she  's  got  round  'em  so,  I.'m  sure." 

"  The  same  way  she  's  made  over  a  tolerably  sensible 
boy  into  a  lady's  man,  with  posies  stickin'  in  his  button- 
holes," said  Mr.  Catlett. 

Most  of  the  morning  was  spent  by  "  Massa  Jack"  in 
going  about  the  place,  visiting  the  wood-lot,  the  stable, 
the  tobacco-house,  and  the  corn-crib,  holding  good-natured 
talk  with  the  servants,  and  taking  a  general  oversight  of 
matters  and  things  about  the  farm.  Notwithstanding  Mrs. 
Catlett's  doleful  anticipations  of  the  state  in  which  Mr. 
Catlett  would  find  every  thing  on  his  return,  that  gentle 
man  appeared  to  be  very  well  satisfied  with  the  progress 
of  events  during  his  absence. 

"  That 's  pretty  well,  Uncle  Jake,"  he  said  to  an  old 
gray-headed  negro,  who,  in  his  knit  woolen  cap,  red 
shirt,  and  homespun  trousers,  was  chopping  away  at  a 
little  distance  from  the  other  hands. 

"  Bress  yer  soul,  Mass'  Jack,"  said  the  old  man,  wiping 
the  perspiration  from  his  face,  "  dis  yer  ain't  nothin',  it 
don't  begin ;  I  'se  seen  de  time  when  I  could  cut  six  hun- 
dred feet  of  timber  a  day  easy.  Ole  bones !  Mass'  Jack, 
ole  bones!  dey  wants  greazing  up  once  in  a  while." 

"  Well,  come  up  to  the  house,  after  night,  Uncle  Jake, 
and  we  '11  grease  'em  up  with  a  dram." 

"  Hi !  dat 's  de  sort !"  said  the  old  man. 

Passing  on  to  the  tobacco-house,  arid  from  there  to  the 
corn-crib,  they  were  returning  by  the  quarters,  when  Aunt 
Patsey  stepped  out  of  her  cabin,  with  a  little  black  image 
in  her  arms. 

"  Mass'  Jack,  don'  forget  de  baby  !"  she  said. 

"  Bless  me !  so  I  did !"  said  Mr.  Catlett.  "  A  new  one, 
ain't  it  ?  Well,  to  be  sure,  it 's  quite  peart.  What  do 
you  call  it,  Pats'  ?" 


HOME     FROM     K  A  N  Z  A  S  .  119 

"  Polly  Ebcmezer,"  said  Patsey,  with  a  grin. 

u  Ebenezer !"  said  her  master.  "  Why,  that 's  a  boy's 
name." 

"  So  dey  all  telled  me,  but  la  sakes,  it  don't  made  no 
odds.  It 's  a  good  name,  anyhow  ;  Aunt  Phebe  she  «ings, 

"  '  Here  I  raise,  my  Ebenezer,' 

dar's  whar  I  got  it,  you  see." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  "  I  did  n't  see  the  gist  of 
it  before.  I  've  no  objection  to  your  raisin'  as  many 
Ebenezers  as  you  've  a  mind  to." 

Aunt  Patsey  grinned  again,  and  retreated  into  her 
cabin. 

From  Mrs.  Catlett's  frequent  declarations  that  her 
trouble  and  anxiety  arose  from  her  husband's  absence, 
Fanny  concluded  that  on  that  gentleman's  return,  all 
would  flow  on  smoothly  as  a  summer  stream,  but  she  soon 
found  that  the  troubled  waters  were  not  thus  easily  stilled. 
Mrs.  Catlett  was  one  of  those  unfortunate  persons  who 
must  worry  about  something  all  the  time,  whose  happiness 
consists  in  being  imhappy,  and  who,  if  no  real  cause  for 
fretfulness  exists,  will,  by  some  means,  invent  one. 

When  relieved  from  the  care  of  the  field  hands,  she  had 
all  tbe  more  leisure  to  scold  the  house  servants,  to  pick 
flaws  in  the  children,  and  to  fret  generally  over  her  mis- 
fortune in  being  at  the  head  of  such  an  establishment. 
Her  husband  listened  to  all  her  complaints  with  the  most 
perfect  nonchalance,  sometimes  falling  in  with  what  she 
said,  and  declaring  that  she  was  the  most  miserable  woman 
in  the  world,  and  that  he  always  knew  it,  and  at  other 
times  making  no  reply  at  all.  Occasionally,  however,  he 
became  angry,  and  bade  her  be  quiet,  a  course  that  stilled 
her  instantly,  for  she  stood  in  great  fear  of  her  husband's 
wrath. 


CHAPTER   XL 

BORDERERS     TO     THE     R E S C U E  . 

OUR  three  discomfited  worthies,  as  they  rode  along  by 
moonlight,  to  go  back  in  the  line  of  our  history  somewhat, 
were  busy  planning  their  revenge  upon  the  impudent  and 
unreasonable  squatter,  who  was  strangely  unwilling  to 
give  up  his  claim  and  cabin,  food  and  shelter,  just  as  win- 
ter approached,  after  the  labor  of  a  whole  season,  to  their 
imperious  mandate.  They  would  rouse  the  whole  prairie, 
liquor  'em  up  well,  surround  the  claim,  search  for  the 
cabin,  burn  it  to  the  ground,  and  scatter  its  inmates.  It 
would  never  do  to  allow  a  free  soil  settlement  to  grow  up 
within  thirty  miles  of  La  Belle  Prairie.  It  would  work 
the  worst  kind  of  mischief  among  the  niggers.  They 
could  n't  stand  it  nohow.  But  why  such  an  army  to 
put  down  one  Yankee  and  his  son?  This  question  they 
did  not  raise  in  words,  but  much  of  their  talk  was 
intended  to  answer  it.  It  wasn't  any  use  to  spill  the 
blood  of  gentlemen  born.  Where  there  were  so  many 
lazy  devils  round,  they  might  as  well  have  enough  to  make 
sure  and  safe  work.  "  Wife  and  children,"  said  Catlett, 
who  was  really  quite  a  domestic  man,  as  has  already  ap- 
peared. "  They  are  plaguy  close  shooters,"  said  Turner, 
*fc  as  that  hole  in  your  hat  testifies,  neighbor,  and  there  '11 
be  hot  work  before  we  are  done  with  'em.  They  '11  fight 
like  devils,  see  ff  they  don't."  Tom  said  nothing,  but  sur 


B  O  K  D  E  R  E  It  S     TO     THE     RESCUE.  12} 

his  begrimed  person  and  grated  his  teeth.  They 
talked  over,  also,  what  sort  of  story  they,  should  tell  to 
excite  the  neighbors.  They  did  not  say  it,  but  what  they 
said  r.ieant  that  it  would  never  do  to  let  it  be  known  that 
three  of  the  chivalry  ran  from  a  Yankee  and  a  half.  "  Shall 
we  say  a  dozen  ?"  said  Catlett.  "  Twenty,"  said  Tom. 
"  Fifty ,"  said  Turner.  "  It  won't  do  to  be  too  steep, 
though,"  said  the  squire,  "  a  dozen  is  enough."  So  it 
stood  at  a  dozen.  It  may  surprise  our  readers,  but  nei- 
ther of  these  capitalists  of  the  prairie  ever  read  Shak- 
speare,  or  had  heard  of  such  a  personage  as  Jack  Falstaff. 
After  this  they  discussed  whether  they  should  have  a 
meeting  at  Belcher's  store,  who  should  be  spokesman, 
whether  they  should  be  mum  to  their  families  till  the 
gathering,  and  who  should  ride  round  and  drum  up  all 
hands.  At  last,  as  they  neared  Catlett's  house,  they  con- 
cluded that  they  would  have  a  meeting  at  the  store,  that 
they  would  keep  perfectly  quiet  until  then,  that  Catlett 
should  be  spokesman,  and  Turner  and  Tom  drum  up  all 
hands.  And  if  they  did  n't  make  the  rascally  Yankee  rue 
the  day  he  laid  his  hand  on  a  Missouri  gentleman,  it  would 
be  because  there  was  n't  any  spunk  left  on  the  border. 
So  they  bade  Catlett  good-night,  who  arrived  as  afore- 
said. 

"Dave,"  said  that  gentleman  at  dinner,  "I  want  you  to 
go  to  Belcher's  with  me  this  evening.  Tell  Jerry  to  gea* 
the  horses  right  away." 

"  You  ain't  going  to  send  him  off,  are  you  ?  said  Mrs. 
Catlett  timidly;  for  her  husband  looked  somewhat  awry^ 
and  met  her  looks  of  suspicion  and  anxiety  in  a  way  that 
convinced  the  lady  that  he  was  not  to  be  questioned  too 
closely. 

"Don't  you  fret,"  returned  her  lord  and  master,  and 
there  was  acquiescence. 

6 


122  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

41  There  's  something  on  Mr.  Catlett's  mind,"  she  said, 
as  soon  as  he  was  gone ;  "  a  fight  or  a  drinking  row,  I  '11 
warrant.  That  man  is  always  getting  into  s>me  scrape, 
and  now  poor  Dave  must  be  dragged  into  it.  Viny,  hand 
me  my  pipe  on  the  sideboard,  and  a  shovel  of  coals.  Dear 
me,  what  a  world  of  trouble  this  is." 

"Well,  ma,  I  don't  reckon  there  's  any  thing  very  bal 
going  on  this  time.  I  'm  sure  pa  has  been  pleasant  enough 
all  the  morning." 

44  Nanny,  you  don't  know  your  father  is  well  as  I  do. 
He  's  very  peculiar  about  such  things.  If  he 's  fretted 
about  any  thing,  and  don't  want  me  to  see  it,  he  always 
puts  on  just  that  way.  I  see  through  it,  though.  I  have  n't 
lived  nigh  twenty-five  years  with  him  for  nothing.  I  tell 
you  he's  got  into  a  muss  somehow.  I  should  n't  be  in 
the  least  surprised  to  see  him  brought  home  a  bloody 
corpse  some  day.  'T  would  be  just  my  luck." 

44 Sorrow  and  trouble  !  sorrow  and  trouble!"  mumbled 
the  old  woman  from  the  corner.  "I  telled  'em  'twas  a 
comin'." 

In  a  brief  time  the  subject  of  these  doleful  forebodings 
arrived  with  his  son  at  Tom  Belcher's  store.  The  number 
of  horses  tied  to  the  fence  in  front,  gave  token  of  quite  an 
assemblage  within,  and  they  found,  on  entering,  that  the 
room  was  full ;  full  not  only  of  men,  but  of  smoke  and 
the  fumes  of  whisky,  for  Belcher  had  orders  to  put  a 
barrel  on  tap.  Such  an  event  was  never  known  to  fail  to 
fill  his  store,  with  a  crowd  in  the  interest  of  the  man  who 
paid  the  bill,  from  time  immemorial.  It  is  even  rumored 
that  Catlett  once  advised  a  Methodist  preacher,  who  came 
to  hold  a  series  of  meetings  in  the  neighborhood,  which 
were  thinly  attended,  just  to  take  one  of  his  barrels  of 
whisky  to  the  ground,  and  tap  it,  and  if  it  would  n't  draw 
him  a  crowd,  he  might  set  him  (Catlett)  down  for  a  fool 


B  O  R  D  15  R  E  U  S     TO     THE     RESCUE.  123 

"  And,"  says  he,  "  as  I  'in  favorable  to  religion,  I  don't  care 
if  I  throw  in  the  liquor  to  help  on  the  good  cause." 

There  was  an  immense  stamping,  and  clapping  of  hands, 
and  hurraing,  when  Catlett  and  Dave  entered. 

"  Halloa,  squire  !  you  're  the  man  appointed  to  address 
this  meeting,  Turner  says.  Go  it,  old  hoss !  we  are 
ready,"  says  Belcher. 

u  Had  n't  we  better  organize  ?"  said  a  voice  in  the  cor- 
ner. "  I  likes  to  see  things  done  constitutional.  I  nomi- 
nates T.  Belcher,  Esq.,  as  chairman  of  this  meetin'.  Gen- 
tlemen, as  many  as  in  favor,  say  Ay."  All  sang  out 
"Ay!"  "Contrary  minds  the  same  sign."  "Ay!" 
they  roared  again.  "  It 's  a  unanimous  vote."  Mr.  T. 
Belcher  took  the  chair  amid  thunders  of  applause,  placing 
a  box  on  the  counter,  and  squatting  on  it.  "  Now  we  are 
ready  for  your  speech,  Catlett,"  says  the  chairman.  "  A 
secretary  first,"  bawled  the  constitutional  man.  "  I  nom- 
inates Tom  Walton."  "  Have  him  ?"  The  store  roared 
with  the  yells — "Tom!  you're  it!  You'll  find  pen  and 
paper  out  there  by  the  desk." 

"  Now,  Mack,  confound  you !  if  you  've  any  thing  else 
constitutional,  out  with  it,  for  we  want  to  do  all  that  up 
now  and  hear  the  squire." 

"  All  right  now  !  let  him  fire  !'• 

"  Hold  on  a  bit,  squire,"  said  the  chairman,  "  I  in  aa 
thirsty  as  the  devil !  Hand  up  the  mug  there." 

"  Had  n't  we  all  better  liquor  round,  to  kinder  get  into 
a  glow  first  ?"  said  one. 

"  Second  the  motion !"  said  a  man,  out  at  the  elbows 
who  was  already  holding  on  to  the  counter  for  support. 

"  Hain't  you  got  another  mug,  Tom  ?  We  are  con- 
suming time  this  wray." 

"  It 's  whisky  we  are  consuming  !"  said  the  out-of-elbow 
roan,  "  or  you  need  n't  trust  my  gullet  any  more." 


124  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

u  Come,  come,  gentlemen  !"  said  constitutional  Mack, 
"  I  call  you  to  order  !" 

"Order!  order!  order!"  roared  the  crowd.  Tom 
Belcher  here  resumed  the  reins. 

u  Now,  gentlemen,  we  are  all  ready,  let's  hear  the 
quire  clear  through,  and  drink  no  more  whisky  till  he  'a 
done,  if  we  die  for  't." 

"  Agreed  !  agreed !"  cried  the  crowd. 

Here  Catlett  arose  amid  deafening  shouts. 

"  Fellow-citizens,  and  neighbors — I  appear  before  you  as 
the  representative  of  three  honored  gentlemen  of  La  Bella 
Prairie,  Joe  Turner,  Tom  Walton,  and  my  humble  self,  to 
present  a  cause  which  I  know  will  stir  the  inmost  recesses 
of  your  souls,  and  rouse  you  up  to  deeds  of  glory.  1 
will  be  short,  and  tell  the  plain  facts,  which,  if  I  mistake 
not,  will  thrill  your  spirits,  animate  your  hearts,  and — and 
make  your  hair  stand  on  eend ! 

u  You  know,  fellow-citizens,  that  Turner,  Tom,  and  I 
have  been  over  in  Kanzas  (great  sensation),  looking  out 
peaceful  homes  for  our  children. .  Fellow-citizens,!  selected 
a  spot,  and  Tom,  as  he  will  testify,  nailed  my  claim  to  a  tree. 
We  traveled  all  over  Kanzas  for  weeks,  and  on  returning 
found  that  some  daring  rapscallion  of  an  abolitionist  had 
torn  down  the  writing  and  scattered  it  in  pieces  to  the 
winds  of  heaven.  Friends  and  neighbors,  imagine  the 
feelings  of  grief  and  indignation  that  swelled  our  hearts  as 
we  surveyed  the  relics  of  this  damning  deed  (immense 
sensation).  As  we  stood  in  wonder  hoping  to  light  upon 
the  scalawag,  behold,  there  rvshed  forth  upon  us,  a  dozen 
stout  abolition  devils,  armed  to  the  teeth,  and  with  hellish 
shouts,  pitched  into  us  pell-mell.  Fellow-citizens,  it  were 
vain  to  attempt  a  description  of  the  scene  which  followed. 
I  upset  two,  Turner  knocked  down  several,  and  Tom 
drove  his  charger  over  a  gang,  but  they  were  too  many 


BOBDEBBBS    TO     THE    BESOUE.  125 

for  us,  and  had  they  been  good  shots,  your  friends  and 
neighbors  would  not  be  here  to-day  to  recite  the  story  of 
their  wrongs.  Behold  this  hat !  see  where  the  villains' 
bullet  went  through  !  (yells  and  groans  mingled  with  cries 
of  shoot  the  devils  !  hang  'em !  roast  'em  alive  !  etc.,  etc.) 
And  now,  my  friends,  we  appeal  to  you.  Will  you  rest 
content  while  such  murderous  villains  are  threatening  the 
lives  and  insulting  the  rights  of  your  fellow-citizens? 
Will  you  stand  tamely  by  and  see  our  claimys  destroyed, 
our  sacred  rights  invaded,  and — and  our  hats  punched  with 
bullet  holes  ?  Will  you,  I  say  ?  (Tremendous  sensation.) 
Come,  then,  return  with  us  in  a  body,  break  up  their  set* 
tlement,  burn  their  cabins,  and  drive  them,  at  least,  a  hun- 
dred miles  into  the  wilderness.  I  appeal  to  you,  noble 
sons  of  Missouri,  and  will  only  add,  that  Turner,  Tom,  and 
I  will  pay  the  liquor." 

"  We  '11  go !"  "  Hang  the  devils  !"  "  Set  me  down  for 
one!5'  "Oaths!"  "  Big  words!"  UA  little  more  li- 
quor !"  "  Open  the  enlistment  books  !"  "  Shoot  'em !" 
"  Hurrah  for  Catlett !"  "  We  '11  fight  for  you,  old  hoss  !" 
"  No  shirking !"  "  Stand  fast !" — and  general  noise  and 
excitement  followed  this  speech. 

When  at  last  order  was  restored,  the  constitutional  Mr. 
Mack  rose  to  offer  the  following  resolutions : 

"  A  drink  round  first !  The  squire's  speech  was  dry — 
no,  I  was  dry  !"  "  Yes,  a  drink  round,  that 's  the  talk." 

So  round  went  the  mug.  When  all  was  done,  u  Now," 
says  Belcher,  "  speak  up,  Mack." 

"  You  ain't  quite  constitutional  in  your  way,  Belcher. 
However,  never  mind.  I  move  the  following  resolutions  : 

"  JZesolued)  That  the  outrageous  attack  by  abolition 
meddlers  upon  our  fellow-citizens,  peaceably  exploring 
Kanzas,  rouses  our  highest  indignation,  and  regard  fof 
our  own  safety,  and  the  safety  of  our  wives  and  children, 


126  WESTER'N     BORDER    LIFE. 

impel  us  to  unite  our  hearts  and  hands  for  the  commou 
safety,  and  that  we  pledge  ourselves  to  expel  these  invad- 
ers from  our  borders. 

"  Resolved,  That  Tom  Belcher's  be  the  rendezvous  for 
all  our  citizens  on  the  morning  of  the  fifteenth,  who  shall 
then  and  there  appear,  armed  and  equipped  for  service, 
and  that  Col.  Joe  Turner  be  appointed  commander  to  the 
expedition. 

"  Resolve^  That  a  call  to  arms  and  a  notice  of  this  gath- 
ering shall  be  nailed  up  in  Belcher's  store." 

"  Them's  urn."  "  Mack  knows."  "  Put  'em,  Belcher !» 
"  Ay  !  we  are  ready."  "  Go  it."  "  Them  in  favor,  say 
Ay!" 

"  Ay !"  roared  the  gang  with  an  unearthly  sound. 

"  Now  let 's  liquor  round  and  adjourn,"  said  the  out-of- 
elbow  man.  "  Agreed,"  cried  the  lot ;  and  the  door 
opened  and  Catlett  and  his  son  emerged  into  tbe  open 
air-  Neither  of  them  had  drank  too  much. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

KANZAS'S     FIRST     MARTYR. 

AT  length  the  sun  of  the  fifteenth  of  October,  which 
was  to  become  as  famous  to  the  people  of  La  Belle  Prairie 
as  the  sun  of  Austerlitz,  dawned  upon  that  quiet  settle- 
ment. Early  in  the  morning,  a  barrel  of  whisky  had  been 
rolled  out  by  Belcher,  and  placed  in  a  convenient  spot, 
with  the  mug  under  it  for  general  use.  Scarcely  had  this 
task  been  accomplished,  when  a  customer  for  the  first 
dram,  in  the  shape  of  a  man,  with  an  old  knapsack  and 
battered  drum,  came  swaggering  up  to  the  spot. 

"Ho!  Jenkins,  it's  you,  is  it;  first  on  the  ground? 
Well,  you  '11  do  for  the  music,  to  say  nothing  about  such 
chaps  as  you  being  good  food  for  powder." 

u  I  say,  Belcher,  you  'd  best  let  a  feller  alone,  when  he  'a 
come  to  do  you  a  good  turn.  I  vow,  if  it  ain't  mean  the 
worst  way,  to  begin  in  that  style,"  said  the  man,  growling 
out  his  words  with  catched  breath,  as  though  restraining 
his  passion  through  fear. 

4;  Never  mind,  Jenks,  don't  get  touchy  now,  there  's  no 
haim  done.  Just  take  another  drink,  and  come  into  the 
porch.  It's  prime  whisky,  real  first  brand.  Tell  you 
what,  Jenks,  the  gentlemen  of  La  Belle  Prairie  don't  do 
fchi>igs  by  halves." 

*  Humph  !"  said  the  man. 

i  iarcely  were  they  seated,  ere  another  and  another 


128  WESTERN    BORDER     LIFE. 

came  straggling  along,  and  soon  a  little  crowd  gathered 
around  the  center  of  attraction,  the  whisky-barrel,  shout- 
ing, gesticulating,  and  preparing  themselves,  after  the 
most  approved  fashion  in  those  parts,  for  the  day's  work. 
At  length,  when  about  thirty  had  appeared  on  parade, 
Dave  and  Catlett  came  galloping  down  the  road,  upon 
their  best  horses,  and  a  moment  after,  Col.  Joe  Turner, 
mounted  in  like  manner,  made  his  appearance. 

After  some  general  talk  and  bluster,  which  occupied  at 
least  half  an  hour,  the  colonel  tapped  Catlett  on  the 
shoulder. 

"  Come,  squire,  we  ought  to  be  on  the  move,"  he  said. 
u  We  've  got  a  long  day's  work  before  us  at  the  shortest, 
and  if  that  sprig  of  a  Torn  would  only  come  on,  I  'd  just 
form  a  line  and  commence  the  march.  Loitering  ain't 
going  to  be  the  thing  to-day." 

"  Are  the  wagons  ready  for  the  poor  devils  on  foot, 
Jenkins  the  drummer,  and  the  whisky  ?" 

"  All  here,  and  the  barrels  in,"  sung  out  Belcher. 

"  Let 's  be  off,  then,"  said  Catlett,  "  Tom  can  chase  us 
with  his  Arabian  high-flyer.  I  would  n't  wait  another 
minute." 

"  Beat  the  muster-call,  Tim,"  said  the  colonel,  and  draw- 
ing his  rusty  sword,  a  relic  of  the  Revolution  in  old  Vir- 
giny,  which  had  descended  as  an  heir-loom  in  the  family, 
and  was  said  to  have  been  the  one  that  Cornwallis  sur- 
rendered at  Yorktown  ;  -drawing  this  famous  sword,  as  he 
gave  orders  to  the  music,  he  rode  off  in  fine  style,  in  his 
old  regimentals,  and  the  plume  of  his  chapeau,  dilapidated 
by  the  ravages  of  time,  waved,  that  is  what  was  lefl  of  it, 
in  the  wind. 

"  Bravo  !"  cried  the  squire,  and  there  was  a  universal 
shout.  After  forming  the  line  and  taking  the  roll,  the 
colonel  made  preparations  for  starting.  Filling  two  wag- 


KANZAS'S    FIRST    MARTYR.  129 

ons  with  four  or  five  of  the  poor  devils  on  foot,  as  he  sig- 
nificantly called  them,  with  a  barrel  of  whisky  in  each 
wagon,  he  placed  them  behind  to  take  the  dust.  The 
gents  on  horseback  were  marshaled  in  front,  and  all  being 
ready,  our  colonel  commanded  Jenkins  to  strike  up 
"  Yankee  Doodle,"  and  off  moved  the  cavalcade  to  the 
scene  of  conflict.  Never  was  there  a  more  determined 
Bet  of  men.  Col.  Joe  did  not  inventory  himself  a  penny 
below  Caesar  or  Napoleon,  as  he  played  his  military  antics 
on  his  charger,  with  drawn  sword,  while  his  noble  band, 
stimulated  by  the  whisky  and  their  own  passions,  stood 
ready  to  back  him  in  any  exploit  of  valor. 

Thus,  in  military  glory,  rode  on  this  great  expedition 
of  all  the  prairie,  with  a  white  skin,  including  "tag  rag 
and  bob-tail,"  to  attack,  as  they  supposed,  a  dozen  Yan- 
kees, but  as  we,  and  the  valiant  leaders  know,  a  Yankee 
and  a  half. 

Let  not  the  reader  suppose  that,  ludicrous  as  the  whole  pro- 
ject thus  far  appears,  there  may  not  be  some  sad  work  before 
it  is  completed.  This  reckless,  half  tipsy  gang  will  hardly 
return  to  their  homes  until  mishief  is  accomplished ;  and 
if  among  them  all  there  be  found  a  heart  with  some 
kindly  sympathies  remaining,  it  may  find  cause  before 
night  to  beat  with  sorrow  and  shame,  for  the  cowardly 
deeds  that  are  done.  Methinks  I  see  grinning  devils 
hovering  over  those  whisky  barrels,  giving  each  other, 
now  and  then,  a  chuck  in  the  ribs,  and  writhing  and  twist- 
ing about  with  suppressed  laughter,  while  the  image  of  a 
death's  head  seems  to  play  along  the  line  of  the  cavalcade. 

Crossing  the  ferry,  a  few  miles  from  Belcher's,  on  they 
moved  with  bluster,  and  fume,  and  swell,  and  oaths,  and 
whisky,  through  the  quiet  and  peaceful  fields  of  Kanzas, 
toward  Catlett's  claim.  Tom  Walton  came  galloping  up 
to  them  in  an  hour's  time,  crying  out — 

6* 


130  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

"  No  you  don't ;  I  would  n't  miss  being  in  this  fray  for 
any  money  whatever."  Tom  knew  the  strength  of  the 
foe. 

What  this  party  said  during  the  hours  which  elapsed 
till  they  arrived  within  half  a  mile  of  the  claim,  is  of  no 
kind  of  consequence  to  any  mortal  man,  nor  is  it  in  any 
degree  ^ssential  to  our  history.  Indeed,  one  good  at 
guessing  could  not  get  far  out  of  the  way,  were  he  to 
trust  to  his  guess.  We  hasten  on  our  narrative,  then,  to 
this  very  spot. 

Excited  by  drinking,  and  frantic  with  the  rage  of  their 
fierce  words,  up  rode  the  party  to  their  work,  which 
neither  Catlett,  Dave,  Turner,  nor  Tom  had  expected  to 
be  such  as  it  proved  to  be.  They  hoped  to  frighten  the 
Yankee  off  the  premises,  and  take  quiet  possession  with- 
out violence. 

"Attention  the  whole!"  cried  the  colonel;  "halt! 
Yonder  comes  somebody  quite  a  distance  off.  We  must 
surround  him,  and  take  him  prisoner.  Understand  ? 
Don't  a  man  of  you  fire.  Surround  him.  That's  it,  ain't 
it,  Catlett." 

"  To  be  sure.  Perhaps  it 's  one  of  the  gang,  and  we 
can  get  something  out  of  him.  Move  ahead,  Turner.  Do 
you  hear  ?" 

"  Forward,"  said  the  colonel.     "  Jenkins,  no  music." 

They  moved  on  in  silence. 

The  individual  whom  the  colonel's  sharp  eyes  had  first 
descried,  was  walking  leisurely  along,  and  for  some  time 
did  not  appear  to  notice  them.  The  place  of  meeting  was 
an  open  prairie,  with  a  little  slope  of  woods  on  one  side, 
and  there  seemed  no  retreat  except  by  clear  swiftness  of 
foot  against  twenty  good  horses.  The  man,  however,  ap- 
parently meditated  nothing  of  the  sort,  but  closing  his 
jack-knife,  and  throwing  down  a  bit  of.  vypod  he  was  \\  hit 


K.ANZAS'8    FIRST    MARTYK.  131 

tling,  he  arranged  his  gun  a  little  more  firmly  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  marched  boldly  forward  to  meet  them. 

44  Ho,  there  you  are !  The  very  chap  we  are  after. 
You  abolition  Yankee,  what  are  you  about  here  ?" 

44  Going  on  my  own  business,  with  no  desire  to  interfere 
with  yours.  So  let  me  pass." 

44  No  you  don't.  Come,  just  take  down  your  weapon. 
It 's  no  use,  you  see.  There 's  thirty  of  us  at  least.  We  *ve 
got  a  little  matter  to  settle  with  you  this  fine  morning, 
and  if  you  give  us  any  of  your  impudence,  we  '11  jiake 
mince-meat  of  you.  Boys,  here  's  the  very  fellow  that 
tore  down  the  claim.  Surround  your  prisoner." 

The  drunken  squad,  with  oaths  and  curses  aim*,  d  at  the 
luckless  man,  obeyed  orders. 

44  Now,  give  me  that  gun." 

He  allowed  himself  to  be  disarmed,  for  resistance  with 
the  present  odds  against  him,  would  have  been  sheer 
madness. 

44  Now,"  said  Catlett,  stepping  forward,  "  you  are  on 
my  claim.  You  remember  the  squabble  we  had  hjre^ 
about  a  week  ago.  I  told  you  then  I  'd  bring  you  to  teims. 
Now  jest  look  here.  I  want  you  to  promise  to  leave  t'.*ese« 
parts,  bag  and  baggage,  before  sundown  to-night.  Do 
you  hear  ?  I  ain't  jokin,  neither.  If  you  can  do  it  q  net, 
why  well  and  good.  I  don't  want  a  row  about  it.  If  you 
can't,  there  are  them  to  back  me  who  would  n't  mind  Seat- 
ing you  to  a  jelly,  and  stringing  you  up  like  an  aco:  a  on 
yonder  tree.  Will  you  go  ?" 

44  My  family  are  here  for  the  winter,  and  I  can  not  go," 
sail  the  man,  firmly. 

44  But  don't  you  see  that  we  can  make  you  go,  yea  in* 
fernal,  obstinate  Yankee  ?" 

44  You  can  murder  me  in  cold  blood,"  was  the  reply—- 
and it  was  given  in  as  steady  a  voice  as  though  th« 


132  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

speaker  had  twenty  stout  men,  instead  of  his  single  arm, 
to  back  it — "  but  I  will  never  consent  to  be  driven  off  my 
own  land  by  a  set  of  lawless  drunken  ruffians." 

"  Do  you  hear  that  ?"  "  Have  at  the  rascal !»  "  Stop 
his  impudence  !"  "  Pitch  into  him,  boys  !"  "  We  '11 
teach  him !"  These  exclamations,  mingled  with  oaths  and 
curses,  were  heard  on  every  side,  and  the  crowd  pushing 
forward,  pressed  close  upon  the  prisoner. 

"  Hold  on,  boys !  Keep  off,  can't  you  ?"  cried  Catlelt. 
"Stop  'em,  Turner,  they'll  finish  the  fellow!" 

It  was  too  late.  On  some  fancied  provocation,  Tim 
Jenkins,  the  drummer,  hit  the  man  with  his  drum-stick, 
and  received  a  blow  in  return  that  leveled  him  to  the 
earth.  This  was  the  signal  for  a  general  melee.  They 
sprang  upon  him,  striking  him  with  the  butt  ends  of  their 
guns  and  pistols,  pounding,  kicking,  and  battering  him  in 
the  most  brutal  manner.  Blood  flowed  freely,  and  the 
sight  of  it  seemed  only  to  rouse  them  to  fresh  fury. 
crMake  a  clean  job  of  it  !"  cried  one  in  the  crowd. 
"Put  him  through!  Stop  the  devil's  mouth!"  At 
length  some  one  plunged  a  bowie-knife  in  the  victim's 
side,  and  the  job  seeming  to  be  finished,  the  rest  desisted 
from  their  labor.  Both  Catlett  and  Turner  failed  in  all 
efforts  to  control  the  mob.  Drunk  and  furious,  they  dis~ 
obeyed  orders ;  and  then  rushed  to  the  whisky  barrels, 
and  betook  themselves  to  the  liquor. 

"That's  carrying  it  a  little  too  far,  Catlett,"  said 
Trarner.  "  The  poor  fellow  's  done  for,  sure." 

"No,  no,  there's  life  in  him  yet.  Don't  you  see  he 
breathes.  What  in  thunder  shall  we  do  with  him  ? 
Does  any  body  know  where  his  cabin  is  ?" 

"  It 's  right  down  yonder  slope,"  said  one.  "  Don't  you 
see  the  smoke  above  the  trees  ?" 

"  Take  hold,  then,  some  of  you,"  and  two  or  three  of  the 


KANZAS'S    FIRST    MAKTYB.  133 

men  taking  up  the  senseless  body  of  their  victim,  bore 
him  down  the  slope  to  his  cabin,  Catlett  and  Turner  lead- 
ing the  way. 

His  wife  met  them  at  the  door.  She  held  an  infant  in 
her  arms,  while  two  or  three  rosy  children  clung  to  her 
skirts,  and  peered  shyly  out  at  the  strangers.  The  poor 
woman  uttered  a  single  exclamation  of  grief  and  horror, 
as  the  body  of  her  husband  was  thrown  .down  at  her  feet, 
and  then  kneeling  beside  him,  she  laid  his  head  tenderly  in 
her  lap,  wiping  the  blood  from  his  face,  and  striving  with 
her  apron  to  stanch  his  bleeding  wounds.  As  her  hot 
tears  rained  upon  his  face,  the  dying  man  opened  his  eyes. 

"  O,  John,  speak  to  me  !"  she  cried.  "  Who  has  used 
you  so  ?  Can  nothing  be  done  ?" 

He  shook  his  head  feebly,  and  then  raising  himself  for  a 
last  effort,  exclaimed,  "  They  murdered  me  like  cowards !" 
and  sinking  back  fn  her  arms,  immediately  expired. 

For  a  moment  there  was  perfect  stillness  in  the  room. 
Even  the  hardened  ruffians,  who  with  oaths,  and  laughter, 
and  drunken  jests,  had  borne  the  murdered  man  to  his 
own  hearth-stone,  were  suddenly  sobered,  and  with  half- 
ashamed  faces,  peered  in  at  the  doorway,  while  Catlett  and 
Turner  in  the  foreground,  surveyed  with  looks  of  real 
compassion  the  widow  of  their  victim.  Save  the  first 
glance  of  eager  inquiry  on  their  entrance,  she  had  taken 
no  notice  of  them,  bestowing  her  whole  attention  upon 
her  dying  husband.  Now,  however,  laying  his  head 
gently  upon  the  floor,  she  rose  and  stood  before  them. 
She  was  a  little  woman,  pale  and  meek-eyed,  but  there 
was  something  almost  majestic  in  her  manner,  as  she  faced 
them  at  this  moment. 

"What  are  you  waiting  for  ?"  she  exclaimed  fiercely. 
"  Do  you  want  to  feast  your  eyes  over  the  misery  you 
have  caused  ?  Well,  take  your  fill,  and  then  go  back  and 


134  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

tell  yonder  gang  how  the  widow  raved  and  groaned,  and 
the  little  children  cried  over  their  dead  father.  It's  a 
noble  thing  you  men  have  been  doing  to-day,  is  n't  it  ? 
Go  back  to  your  homes  to-night,  and  when  your  wife  sits 
by  your  fireside,  and  your  children  clamber  on  your 
knees,  tell  them  how  you  have  made  one  hearth  desolate,  a 
wife  a  widow,  and  four  little  ones  fatherless.  Look  at 
him !  You  've  nothing  to  fear  from  him  now.  Come  and 
take  possession  of  his  lands,  nobody  will  hinder  you — but 
mark  me,  they  '11  never  bring  you  any  good,  for  the  curse 
of  the  widow  and  the  orphan  will  rest  on  them.  Yes,  I 
call  God  to  witness,  that  I  would  rather  be  he  that  lies 
there  stark  and  dead,  than  the  man,  whoever  he  is,  that 
has  bought  this  land  at  the  price  of  his  blood !  You  do 
well  to  cry,  poor  brat,  the  Lord  only  knows  what  will  be- 
come of  us." 

"  For  heaven's  sake  come  away,  Turner,  I  can't  stand 
this  nohow,"  said  Catlett. 

"  Now  then,  where  's  the  rest  of  'em  ?  Show  us  the 
Yankees.  It  takes  us  to  do  the  business !"  cried  the 
crowd,  as  their  leaders  returned.  "  Wnat  's  the  next 
word  of  command,  captain  ?" 

"  Home  !"  said  Catlett,  gruffly.  "  You  've  done  full 
enough  work  for  one  day.  Hang  it,  Turner,  that  woman's 
curses  ring  in  my  ears  yet." 

With  shouts,  and  roars,  and  ribald  jokes,  the  drunken 
mob  returned  to  La  Belle  Prairie,  but  the  instigators  of 
the  invasion  were  not  quite  so  exultant  over  the  victory  as 
they  had  anticipated. 

The  still  hours  of  the  morning  of  the  holy  Sabbath  had 
come,  before  Colonel  Turner  disbanded  his  troop. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

SUNDAY     AT     LA      BELLE     P  R  A  I  R  I  E. 

SUNDAY  was  a  great  day  at  La  Belle  Prairie.  Mrs. 
Catlett  liked  it,  because  the  house  servants  did  their  work 
better  and  quicker  on  that  day  than  any  other,  in  order  to 
be  released  the  sooner,  and  in  consequence  there  was  less 
scolding  and  fretting  to  be  done.  Nanny  and  'Ria  liked 
it,  because  pa  and  Dave  were  most  sure  to  bring  some 
gentlemen  home  to  dine,  and  Mr.  Turner  or  Mr.  Mack 
occasionally  rode  home  from  church  with  the  young  la- 
dies themselves.  The  children  liked  it,  because  on  that 
day  there  was  no  school ;  they  were  dressed  in  their  best 
frocks,  and  had  cake  or  pie  at  dinner — an  unusual  thing 
during  the  week. 

But  better  than  all  the  rest,  the  servants  liked  this  day 
of  rest,  for,  with  the  exception  of  the  house  servants,  they 
were  entirely  released  from  work,  and  had  the  whole  day 
at  their  own  disposal.  Three  or  four  of  the  women  had 
husbands  belonging  on  neighboring  farms,  and  these  came 
regularly  on  Saturday  night  to  spend  Sunday  with  their 
wives  and  children,  often  bringing  with  them  some  article 
of  furniture  they  had  fashioned  with  their  own  hands, 
after  work  hours,  for  the  adornment  of  the  cabin,  or  a 
bright  ribbon  or  a  new  turban,  bought  with  money  earned 
after  their  regular  day's  work  was  over.  These  last  were 
displayed  with  great  pride  the  next  day  at  meeting  for 


136  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

with  one  or  two  exceptions,  they  all  attended  a  religious 
service  held  in  a  neighboring  grove,  where  Uncle  Caesar, 
a  venerable  old  negro  on  Massa  Turner's  place,  officiated 
as  preacher. 

This  once  over,  however,  all  religious  observance  of 
the  day  was  at  an  end,  and  while  the  men  with  all  the 
loose  change  in  their  pockets  that  they  could  muster,  went 
over  the  prairie  to  the  store,  or  down  the  creek  to  Car- 
tersville,  at  both  which  places  whisky  could  be  procured^ 
the  women  spent  the  afternoon  in  visiting,  or  in  sunning 
themselves  at  the  door  of  their  cabins. 

Occasionally  a  little  group  gathered  round  Aunt  Phebe's 
chair  to  hear  her  earnest  exhortations,  for  she  was  always 
ready  to  talk  if  any  would  listen,  and  even  sometimes  had 
been  known  to  preach  a  sermon  to  an  imaginary  audience 
of  her  own.  Many  a  good  discourse  had  she  given  her 
fellow-servants,  sitting  in  her  arm-chair  at  the  cabin  door ; 
"  Uncle  Caesar  himself  could  n't  lay  it  off  better,"  they 
declared ;  but  notwithstanding  the  love  and  respect  they 
all  bore  to  Aunt  Phebe,  one  meeting  a  day  was  quite  as 
much  as  they  could  bear,  and  they  generally  preferred 
to  stroll  off  to  some  neighboring  farm,  to  talk  over  the 
news,  and  display  some  new  article  of  finery,  or  rest  them- 
selves at  home. 

So  Aunt  Phebe  was  usually  left  alone  in  her  arm-chair, 
and  with  her  eyes  half  closed  and  an  expression  of  perfect 
content  resting  upon  her  shining  black  face,  she  would 
spend  the  day  in  the  happiest  manner.  Occasionally  she 
would  break  forth  into  one  of  the  camp-meeting  hymns 
Bhe  so  delighted  to  sing,  and  pause  between  the  verses,  to 
meditate  upon  the  glories  therein  described,  often  sinking 
back  in  a  kind  of  silent  ecstasy,  when,  as  she  declared,  it 
was  all  glory  !  glory  !  One  hymn  in  particular,  commenc- 
ing, "Is  th^re  B,ny  body  here  agoin'  my  way,"  that  in  tif 


SUNDAY     AT     LA     BELLE    PRAIRIE.  137 

teen  or  twenty  stanzas,  follows  the  Christian  pilgrim 
through  all  the  difficulties  and  dangers  of  his  path,  and 
n'nally  lands  him  safe  on  Canaan's  shore,  was  her  favorite 
Sunday  hymn.  She  would  sing  it  to  its  close,  and  by  the 
time  she  reached  the  last  stanza,  where,  after  struggling 
long  in  the  "  dark  river,"  he  is  led  up  the  bank  by  u  spir- 
its robed  in  white,"  her  soul  would  be  filled  with  rapture, 
and  with  her  hands  clasped  and  the  tears  streaming  down 
ber  cheeks,  she  would  sing : 

"  0  bless  de  Lord,  I 's  got  ray  crown, 

Sing,  Glory,  Hallelujah  I 
I  '11  shout  among  de  angels,  Hallelujah ! 
I'll  shout  among  de  angels,  Haileluyahl" 

Such  seasons  Aunt  Phebe  dwelt  upon  afterward,  with 
great  pleasure.  "  I 's  had  a  rneetin'  all  to  myse'f,  chil'en," 
she  would  say,  "  me  and  de  Lord.  O  it 's  jest  a  little  tasta 
ob  what's  to  come!" 

When  the  shadows  lay  long  on  the  grass,  in  little  com- 
panies of  twos  and  threes,  the  men  came  straggling  home. 
Their  uncertain  gait,  their  loud  voices,  and  rude  laughter, 
their  whole  demeanor,  so  different  from  their  usual  quiet 
submissive  bearing,  all  told  of  the  day's  carousal.  With 
empty  pockets,  and  full  heads,  most  of  them  returned  to 
the  scene  of  their  weekly  toil.  Sunday  was  emphatically 
their  day.  Mr.  Catlett  had  nothing  to  do  with  his  hands 
on  the  Sabbath,  and  whether  they  spent  it  in  beastly  intoxi- 
cation, or  in  order  to  earn  a  few  bits  for  themselves,  hired 
out  to  some  neighboring  farmer — for  there  are  men  wicked 
enough  to  tempt  the  poor  slave  to  labor  on  the  Lord's 
day— it  was  no  concern  of  his.  Only  in  one  particular  did 
he  exercise  his  authority.  It  was  frequently  the  case  that 
under  the  influence  of  the  whisky  they  drank,  the  men 
became  exceedingly  quarrelsome,  and  a  fight  in  the  yard 


138  WESTERN    BORDER     LIFE. 

was  not  an  unusual  event  on  a  Sunday  night.  This  would 
not  answer,  for  their  fighting,  unlike  their  work,  was  not 
done  by  halves,  and  Mr.  Catlett  would  find,  perhaps,  on 
Monday  morning,  one  or  two  of  his  best  hands  missing, 
and  on  inquiry  would  ascertain  that  they  were  laid  up 
in  consequence  of  last  night's  pummeling.  All  fighting 
was  accordingly  forbidden  on  "the  place,  and  when  the 
order  was  disobeyed,  Mr.  Catlett  or  Dave  would  step  out, 
and  mark  the  offenders,  \vho  received  their  punishment 
the  next  morning. 

Mr.  Catlett  prided  himself  on  being  a  very  lenient  mas- 
ter. His  men  had  full  liberty  to  drink  whisky  to  any  ex- 
tent, provided  they  could  find  the  wherewith  to  obtain  it. 
They  might  curse  and  blaspheme  in  his  presence  without 
reproof,  or  indulge  in  any  kind  of  wickedness  that  did  not 
interfere  with  his  profit ;  but  when  any  indulgence  unfit- 
ted them  for  his  service,  this  was  quite  another  thing,  and 
must  be  attended  to  at  once. 

So  passed  Sunday  at  the  quarters. 

"  Ebery  one  ob  yer  get  up,"  was  Viny's  usual  salutation 
to  the  sleepers  up  stairs,  on  a  Sunday  morning.  "Dar's 
heaps  to  do  afore  meetin'  time.  Better  be  'bout  it,  I 
reckon." 

"  O  Viny,  is  it  Sunday  sure  enough  ?"  says  one.  "  Does 
the  sun  shine,  and  can  we  go  to  church  ?"  says  another  ; 
while  even  little  Johnny  rejoiced  in  its  being  "  preaching 
day,"  because. he  could  "  ride  along  with  pa  on  Prince." 

If  Viny  ever  fretted,  or  lost  her  temper  at  any  thing, 
Sunday  morning  would  be  the  time ;  for  what  with  run- 
ning  hither  and  thither,  curling  Nanny's  hair,  hooking 
'liia's  tight  gowns,  and  tying  the  children's  shoe-strings, 
no  chambermaid  in  a  steamboat,  in  a  storm,  ever  had  a 
harder  time  to  wait  on  her  charge.  But  Viny's  patience 
was  inexhaustible.  She  took  her  own  time  for  every 


SUNDAY     AT     LA     BELLE    PRAIRIE.  139 

thing,  and  while  half  a  dozen  voices  were  calling  her  in  as 
many  different  directions,  she  kept  coolly  on  with  what 
she  was  about,  laughed,  till  her  gums  were  visible,  at  Miss 
Nanny's  scoldings,  pinched  'Ria's  fat  neck  as  she  fastened 
her  dress,  and  good  naturedly  received  all  the  kicks 
Johnny  chose  to  bestow,  because  his  new  boots  happened 
to  pinch  his  toes. 

Below,  Mr.  Catlett  got  out  the  six-inch  mirror,  the  larg- 
est the  house  contained,  and  commenced  taking  off  his 
week's  growth  of  beard,  this  being  a  lengthy  operation, 
for  which  he  could  better  spare  the  time  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing than  any  other,  while  Mrs.  Catlett  lounged  about,  super- 
intending the  arrangements  for  an  early  breakfast. 

This  over,  the  horses  are  geared,  and  preparations  made 
for  starting  for  church.  First,  the  big  wagon,  drawn  by 
two  of  the  steadiest  farm-horses,  drives  up  to  the  door, 
and  into  this  the  children  clamber,  a  black  boy,  with 
his  hat  set  jauntily  on  one  side  of  his  head,  and  rejoicing 
in  numberless  little  tails  of  braided  wool,  acting  as  driver. 
This  once  off,  at  a  good  steady  jog,  the  horses,  one  by 
one,  are  led  up  to  the  horse-block,  Dave  assisting  Nanny, 
'Ria,  and  Joy  to  mount ;  and  springing  upon  his  own 
beautiful  gray,  they  all  canter  slowly  down  the  lane. 

Down  the  lane,  and  across  the  prairie,  with  its  long 
grass  waving  in  the  wind,  into  the  still  woods,  under  the 
shade  of  the  maples  and  oaks,  past  one  or  two  clearings, 
where  the  monarchs  of  the  wood  have  been  lately  laid 
low,  and  the  ground  is  yet  black  and  dry  from  tho  effects 
of  the  fire,  along  a  path  that  leads  up  the  side  of  Oak  hill, 
and  finally  brings  them  to  its  summit,  where  stands  La 
Belle  Church.  A  space  had  been  cleared  to  make  roono 
for  the  little  unobtrusive  building  that  bears  this  high 
sounding  name.  About  the  door,  and  under  the  shade 
of  the  trees,  stand  groups  of  children  and  young  people, 


110  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

for  many  a  pleasant  meeting  have  they  Sunday  mornings 
here;  and  .it  is  a  common  saying  on  the  prairie,  that 
more  matches  are  made  at  La  Belle  Church  than  any- 
where  else.  Dismounting  at  the  horse-block,  the  ladies 
divest  themselves  of  their  long  riding  skirts,  and  thick 
gloves,  and  join  the  group  under  the  trees,  while  up  the 
hill  side  come  the  little  children  on  foot,  the  path  being 
too  steep  for  wagons  to  ascend. 

It  was  fashionable  to  attend  church  at  La  Belle  Prairie. 
A  colony  of  families,  who  twelve  years  before  moved  from 
a  town  near  Richmond,  Virginia,  brought  with  them  their 
church-going  habits,  and  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  two, 
organized  a  church,  and  built  a  place  of  worship.  Though 
not  as  wealthy  as  many  of  the  old  settlers,  they  were  in- 
fluential people  in  their  way,  and  before  long  it  became 
quite  the  custom  to  attend  church  on  the  Sabbath.  This 
practice  did  not  in  the  least  interfere  with  the  dinner  par- 
ties which  were  given  on  that  day,  for  as  but  one  service 
was  held,  and  this  in  the  morning,  it  was  very  convenient 
to  ride  immediately  home  from  church  with  a  few  friends 
to  dinner,  and  to  spend  the  afternoon  in  chatting  with  the 
young  gentlemen,  in  talking  politics,  or  in  rambling  over 
each  other's  farms,  to  witness  the  progress  of  the  crops. 

'There  was  no  bell  upon  the  church,  and  indeed  none 
was  necessary,  for  the  people  well  understood  that  when 
the  preacher  came  it  was  time  to  commence,  and  no 
sooner  did  his  shaggy  sorrel  colt  appear  ascending  the 
hill,  than  there  was  a  general  rush  for  the  door,  and  by 
the  time  he  entered,  the  people  were  mostly  in  their  seats. 

"  John  Carlton  the  preacher,"  as  he  was  usually  called, 
was  born  and  brought  up  on  the  prairie.  His  father  died 
while  he  was  yet  a  boy,  leaving  him  possessed  of  a  large 
property,  and  a  spirit  as  wild  and  untamable  as  ever 
brought  grief  to  a  parent's  heart.  For  many  years  he 


SUNDAY     AT     L  A      BELLE     1'  U  A  I  R  I  E .  141 

was  known  as  the  worst  young  fellow  in  a  very  bad  neigh- 
borhood, a  sort  of  ring-leader  in  every  drinking  frolic, 
gambling  scrape,  and  horse-race.  His  way  of  lite  broke 
his  mother's  heart,  and  her  last  breath  was  spent  in  en- 
treating him  to  repent,  and  become  a  better  man.  Though 
for  a  time  her  death  appeared  to  produce  no  effect,  except 
to  make  him  if  possible  more  wild  and  reckless  than  before  ; 
yei  her  earnest  prayers  were  answered  at  last.  Singularly 
enough,  he  received  his  first  religious  impressions  at  the 
theater,  passed  through  days  and  weeks  of  agonizing  con- 
viction, and  finally  found  peace  in  believing.  He  had  re- 
ceived a  college  education,  and  instantly  resolved  to  de- 
vote himself  to  the  work  of  the  ministry,  and  return  and 
labor  among  his  old  companions. 

So  here  in  the  little  church  on  the  hill  he  ministered 
from  Sabbath  to  Sabbath,  and  during  the  week  traveled 
miles  and  miles  into  the  country,  preaching  in  groves,  and 
log-houses,  and  wherever  he  could  find  people  to  hear. 
And  those  who  heard  John  Carlton  once,  were  very  apt 
to  come  again.  There  was  an  earnestness  and  power 
about  his  preaching,  rude  and  uncultivated  though  it  was, 
that  found  its  way  to  the  heart.  Nor  was  it  strange,  for 
with  his  whole  soul  in  the  work,  he  preached  what  he 
believed,  and  preached  it  so  earnestly,  that  his  hearers 
for  the  time  being  were  constrained  to  believe  it  too. 
He  seemed  like  one  who,  just  escaped  from  some  imminent 
peril,  endeavors  by  warnings  and  entreaties,  co  save  his 
friends  and  neighbors  ,from  a  like  danger.  "  He  has  a 
way  of  piiin'  up  the  horrors,"  said  Catlett,  "  that  makes  a 
feller  crawl  all  over."  The  earnestness  of  his  gestures 
went  far  toward  fixing  the  attention  of  his  hearers.  Tall 
and  sallow,  his  black  hair  already  tinged  with  gray,  and 
his  eye  so  sharp  and  piercing  that  you  involuntarily 
dropped  your  own  before  it;  he  was  a  striking  figure  iu 


142  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

the  pnlpit,  and  when  roused  with  his  subject,  his  words 
came  thick  and  fast,  and  he  threw  his  arms  wildly  about; 
there  were  times  when  women  fainted  and  strong  men 
sobbed  aloud. 

To-day  his  subject  was  "Remorse,"  and  as  he  thus  de- 
scribed its  workings  in  the  sinner's  soul,  it  was  observed 
that  Jack  Catlett  gave  more  than  ordinary  attention : 

"  Look  at  the  last  hours  of  such  a  man.  Health,  repu- 
tation, character,  all  buried  in  a  grave  of  his  own  digging, 
an  old  man  before  his  prime,  with  a  worn-out  body  and  a 
ruined  soul,  wearied  and  disgusted  with  the  world,  and 
having  drained  the  cup  of  sin  to  its  very  dregs,  he  has 
filled  up  the  full  measure  of  his  iniquities,  and  lays  himself 
down  to  die.  Then  Remorse  seizes  its  victim.  Not  for 
the  first  time.  No  sinner,  I  care  not  how  reckless  he  may 
be,  or  how  seared  as  with  a  red-hot  iron  his  conscience 
has  become,  but  feels  at  times  the  gnawings  of  that  worm 
that  shall  torment  him  through  all  eternity.  There  are 
moments  when  he  must  think,  when  the  tormentor  within 
will  not  remain  torpid,  and  when  in  the  midst  of  his  rev- 
elry and  drunkenness,  he  shudders  and  turns  pale,  as  he 
feels  it  struggling  and  writhing  in  his  bosom. 

"  He  may  plunge  deeper  into  dissipation.  He  may  pour 
down  draught  after  draught  of  liquid  fire,  he  may  smother 
it  in  worldliness,  or  stupefy  it  by  drunkenness,  but  it  will 
not  die.  It  lies  there  coiled  up  in  his  very  heart,  growing 
stronger  every  day,  while  he  piles  up  sin  upon  sin,  sin  upon 
sin,  for  it  to  feed  upon  through  endless  ages.  There  was 
a  way  by  which  it  might  have  been  destroyed.  The  blood 
of  Christ  alone  could  take  away  its  sting;  but  this  he  has 
trampled  under  foot;  he  has  crucified  his  Saviour,  he  has 
blasphemed  his  God,  and  hell  has  already  commenced  in 
his  wretched  soul. 

"His  bosom-fiend  rouses  itself  to  full  activity.     He  feels 


SUNDAY     AT     LA     BELLE     PRAIRIE.  143 

its  slimy  folds,  drawing  closer  and  closer  round  his  heart; 
and  its  sharp  fangs  quickly  eating  through  the  crust  of 
pride  and  self-confidence  with  which  he  has  enfolded  it, 
are  now  tearing  away  at  the  very  vitals.  His  body  is  all 
weakness  and  pain,  but  his  soul  is  strong  to  suffer,  mighty 
to  endure.  His  neglected  powers  of  mind,  all  aid  in  his 
torture.  Memory  recalls  the  days  of  his  childhood ;  his 
first  open  sin,  his  neglect  of  his  pious  mother's  prayers 
and  entreaties,  his  misspent  hours,  his  broken  Sabbaths, 
his  oaths  and  blasphemies  against  his  God,  all  ri&e  up  in 
judgment  against  him.  The  still  small  voice  of  Coii^cience, 
long  silenced  but  not  dead,  whispers  its  reproaches,  re- 
minds him  of  its  faithful  warnings,  its  unheeded  pricks, 
and  when  in  his  agony  he  cries  out  that  his  punishment  is 
greater  than  he  can  bear,  Reason  tells  him  that  it  i&yust. 
If  Hope  dare  to  whisper  of  pardoning  mercy,  it  is  silenced 
by  the  groan  ings  of  Despair.  Too  late  !  too  late !  He 
believes  nothing,  he  hopes  nothing.  It  is  all  horror  and 
blackness  to  look  back,  and  he  dare  not  look  forward. 
He  loathes  his  own  being,  longs  for  death  and  fears  to  die. 

"  And  he  feels  the  worm  tugging  at  his  heart.  There 
is  a  burning  within,  like  a  slow  consuming  fire,  a  sudden 
darting  anguish  as  some  hidden  spot  is  laid  bleeding  and 
bare,  and  a  continual  tearing,  grinding  pain,  as  it  eats  its 
way  deeper  into  his  being.  No  rest  night  or  day.  In 
weary  tossings  from  side  to  side,  his  hours  are  passed,  or 
if  he  falls  into  a  troubled  sleep,  he  wakes  with  the  drops 
of  anguish  on  his  brow,  and  cries  out,  'It  gnaws  me!  It 
gnaws  me  !' 

"  O  !  is  there  no  respite  for  the  racked  and  tortured  soul  ? 
Will  the  worm  never  cease  to  writhe,  and  twist,  and 
gnaw  within  ?  A  voice  replies  to  his  agonized  cry — 
Never  !  Nature  may  sink  under  the  torture.  The  body 
may  perish,  but  that  which  suffers  most  is  immortal,  and 


144  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

can  not  die.  The  wretch  in  the  last  extremity  of  guilt 
and  despair,  may  seek  the  suicide's  grave  !  he  may  blow 
himself  to  atoms,  or  bury  his  carcase  in  the  depths  of  the 
sea,  he  can  not  escape  the  fiend  in  his  bosom,  or  the  anger 
of  an  insulted  God.  No  need  of  sulphurous  lake,  or  pit 
of  flaming  fire;  let  but  the  sinner  feel  through  the  ages  of 
eternity,  the  burning,  cankering,  gnawing  horrors  of  re- 
morse, and  it  will  be  hell  enough  for  the  devil  himself — • 
'  For  their  worm  dieth  not,  and  their  fire  is  not  quenched.' 

"  Do  you  say  that  I  have  overdrawn  the  picture  ;  that 
God  is  too  merciful  ever  to  let  a  sinner  perish  so  miserably. 
I  tell  you  that  unless  ye  repent,  ye  shall  all  likewise  perish. 
I'C/M,  young  man — and  you — and  you.  Let  us  pray." 

The  various  postures  assumed  by  the  congregation  at 
La  Belle  church,  would  shock  tho  nerves  of  a  city  audience. 
Every  man  chose  the  free  and  easy  posture  that  pleased 
him  best,  stretching  himself  out  at  full  length ;  elevating 
his  heels  to  the  back  of  the  next  seat,  or  sitting  upon  the 
back  itself,  and  resting  his  lower  extremities  in  his  neigh- 
bor's lap.  Here  and  there  sat  an  attentive  listener,  but  as 
a  general  thing  the  air  of  listlessness  and  indifference  upon 
most  of  their  faces,  presented  a  strange  contrast  to  the 
earnestness  of  the  preacher.  Now  and  then  a  baby 
squalled,  or  an  urchin  "  talked  out  in  meetin',"  but  such 
occurrences  attract  little  attention  in  a  church  "  out  west," 
where  all  the  women  bring  their  little  ones,  whose  ac- 
knowledged right  it  is  to  make  as  much  noise  as  they 
please. 

At  last  the  service  is  over,  and  the  minister  passing 
slowly  down  the  aisle,  shakes  hands  with  the  old  people  ; 
speaks  a  pleasant  word  to  the  young  girls,  and  pats  the 
little  children  on  the  head  ;  then  finding  his  sorrel  colt 
ready  for  him  at  the  door — for  John  Carlton  is  a  great 
favorite  with  the  young  men,  and  there  are  plenty  to  'do 


8  U  y  I)  A  Y     AT     LA     BELLE     PRAIRIE.  1 45 

this  little  service  for  him — he  mounts  and  picks  his  way 
clown  the  hill. 

Now  conies  the  most  exciting  moment  to  the  young 
ladies,  for  while  the  old  folks  are  exchanging  scraps  of 
gossip  and  invitations  to  dinner,  the  young  men  select  the 
ladies  of  their  choice,  and  request  permission  to  escort 
them  home.  There  are  the  same  heart  fluttering?,  and 
petty  triumphs,  and  jealousies  here  in  this  wild  spot,  as  in 
the  busy  walks  of  city  life,  only  conducted  upon  a  smaller 
scale,  and  concealed  with  less  art.  At  length  the  decis- 
ions are  all  made,  group  after  group  depart,  their  voices 
grow  fainter  as  they  descend  the  slope,  and  presently  the 
little  church  on  Oak  Hill  is  silent  and  deserted. 

"  There,  Mr.  Catlett,  see  that,  will  you  ?"  said  his  vdfe, 
turning  half  round  in  her  saddle  to  get  a  better  view  he/self. 

"See  what?  Mr.  Tom  Walton  ridin' home  with  the 
teacher,  and  our  Nanny  taggin'  on  behind?"  said  her  hus- 
band. 

"  No,  no.  Don't  you  see  Dave  waitin'  on  Boss  Gamby  ? 
I  always  did  think  Dave  was  smart." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  how  he  shows  his  smartnes?  by  pick 
in'  out  the  ugliest-lookin'  girl  on  the  prairie." 

"How  stupid  you  are,  Mr.  Catlett.  I'm  sure  she  looks 
well  enough.  A  little  '  dutchy,'  mebbe,  but  that 's  noth- 
ing. I  tell  you  what,  it  would  be  the  luckiest  thing  we 
ever  did  do,  takin'  those  girls  into  school,  if  something 
should  happen." 

u  The  Lord  preserve  us !  if  the  women  ain't  hatchin'  up 
a  plot.  You  and  Madam  Gamby  have  been  puttin'  your 
wise  heads  together,  I  reckon,  and  have  got  it  all  cut  and 
dried." 

"  Well,  you  may  laugh,  Mr.  Catlett,  but  I  t*ll  you  Dave 
could  n't  do  a  better  thing  for  himself,  and  it 's  my  opinion 
he  sees  H  too." 

n 


146  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

"She's  as  ugly  as  thunder,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  "and  as 
dull  as  ray  old  jack-knife." 

"  She  '11  own  as  pretty  a  piece  of  land  as  there  is  on  the 
prairie,  and  a  dozen  good  hands  to  work  it,"  saii  his  wife. 

"  Hang  the  land  !"  rejoined  Mr.  Catlett.  "  /  man  rnaj 
liave  too  much  of  that  for  his  peace  of  mind." 


CHAPTER    XI?. 

AN     INTERLUDE. 

ONE  evening,  a  few  weeks  after  Fanny's  introduction 
to  Mr.  Catlett's  family,  three  persons  were  seated  in  the 

back  parlor  of  an  elegant  mansion  on  • street,  St. 

Louis,  occupied  by  Judge  Stanton  of  that  city. 

One  of  these  persons  was  the  judge  himself,  a  middle- 
aged  gentleman  of  commanding  appearance,  who,  seated 
at  the  table  with  pencil  in  hand,  and  a  small  outline  map 
before  him,  was  pointing  out  various  localities  with  great 
minuteness  to  a  gentleman  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

A  young  lady,  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fashion,  was 
seated  opposite,  engaged  in  some  fancy  work,  that  dis- 
played the  whiteness  of  her  hands  to  great  advantage. 
She  was  a  showy  genteel-looking  girl,  with  dark  eyes,  and 
a  quantity  of  luxuriant  hair,  arranged  in  heavy  braids 
about  her  well-formed  head. 

"And  so  you  are  really  going  to  that  barbarous  place, 
Mr.  Chester,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  a  pause  occurred  in  the 
conversation  between  the  two  gentlemen.  ult's  too 
bad  of  you,  to  run  off  in  the  height  of  the  season, 
when  our  circle  is  so  small,  and  we  can  not  afford  to  lose 
one." 

The  young  man  looked  up. 

"  You  flatter  me,"  he  said  with  a  smile.  "  I  fancy  the 
vacancy  I  shall  leave  will  be  easily  filled.  Besides,  I  don't 


148  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

intend  to  exile  myself  for  any  length  of  time.  Two  or 
three  \\eeksat  furthest  will  finish  up  this  complicated  busi- 
ness, and  that  ended,  I  shall  turn  my  face  homeward  with 
a  right  good  will." 

"Ah,  but  two  or  three  weeks  cup  the  country'  Mr. 
Chester!  You  have  n't  the  least  idea  how  wearily  they 
will  c  drag  their  slow  length  along.'  I  forewarn  you  that 
you  will  nearly  perish  with  the  cold,  besides  half  dying 
with  ennui.  O,  I  don't  know  what  would  tempt  me  to 
spend  two  or  three  weeks  at  cousin  Jack's  in  the  month 
of  November." 

"  Nonsense,  Julia,"  said  the  judge,  "you  talk  as  though 
we  were  sending  Mr.  Chester  among  barbarians,  and  not 
to  our  own  kith  and  kin.  Cousin  Caroline  will  give  him 
a  good  Virginia  welcome,  and  make  him  as  comfortable 
as  she  can,  and  if  his  quarters  are  not  quite  as  snug  as  his 
bachelor  establishment  in  town,  it  won't  hurt  him.  -When 
I  was  in  my  prime  as  you  are,  Harry  Chester,  I  spent 
many  a  night  on  the  open  prairies  of  Missouri,  and  felt 
the  better  for  it,  too." 

The  young  man  smiled. 

"  I  have  been  tossed  about  enough  for  the  last  ten  or 
fifteen  years,  sir,"  he  said,  "to  know  a  little  of  the  rough- 
and-tumble  of  life,  but  I  anticipate  nothing  unpleasant  in 
your  cousin's  family,  except  my  own  reluctance  as  a 
stranger  to  trespass  so  long  upon  their  hospitality." 

"  Pooh  !  pooh !  Have  n't  you  seen  enough  of  a  Vir- 
ginia gentleman  to  know  that  you  can  not  do  him  a 
greater  kindness  than  by  becoming  his  guest  ?  Why,  you 
might  stay  a  year  at  Cousin  Jack's,  and  not  wear  out 
your  welcome.  There 's  always  room  in  that  house  for 
one  more,  and  when  they  ask  you  to  come  again,  they 
mean  it.  It  will  be  a  work  of  charity  to  go." 

"Papa  is  right,  there,"  said  the  young  lady.     "Any 


AN    INTERLUDE.  149 

thing  to  break  up  the  dreadful  monotony  of  such  a  life  as 
they  lead,  must  indeed  be  a  blessing.  Your  visit  will 
give  cousin  Nanny  something  to  talk  about  for  an  in- 
definite period  of  time  to  come.  A  real  live  beau  from 
town  will  be  quite  an  event  on  the  prairie.  By-the-way, 
Mr.  Chester,  I  beg  you  won't  be  led  captive  by  the  charms 
of  my  sweet  unsophisticated  country  cousin."  This  was 
said  with  the  least  bit  of  irony  in  the  tone. 

"Never  fear,  Julia,"  said  the  judge,  "Mr.  Chester  is 
too  great  a  favorite  with  you  city  tulips,  to  waste  his  am- 
munition on  a  simple  prairie  flower — hey,  Harry  ?" 

"  Well,  sir,  I  shall  endeavor  to  withstand  the  tempta 
tation  in  either  case,  provided  there  is  any  occasion.  The 
law  is  my  only  mistress  at  present,  and  demands  such  de- 
voted attention  as  to  leave  me  little  time,  even  if  I  had 
the  disposition,  to  seek  another." 

"  Just  hear  him,  papa.  Was  ever  any  thing  so  coolly 
spoken.  To  tell  a  lady  to  her  face  that  he  prefers  those 
dry,  stupid  law  books  to  the  delights  of  female  society. 
He  deserves  just  what  he  is  going  to  get,  complete  ban- 
ishment." 

"Spare  me,  I  beg,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  with  uplifted 
hands.  "  I  intended  no  such  dreadful  inference,  or  if  my 
unfortunate  remark  must  be  so  construed,  I  appeal  to  the 
judge  to  say  whether  my  frequent  visits  here  do  not 
prove  that  my  practice  does  not  agree  with  my  profes- 
sion." 

The  judge  laughingly  assented,  and  the  young  lady 
blushed. 

"Now,  then,  let  us  have  some  music,  and  send  this 
gentleman  home,"  said  the  judge.  "  You  have  a  long  ride 
before  you  reach  La  Belle  Prairie,  Harry." 

"Papa,"  inquired  Miss  Julia,  throwing  herself  upon  the 
sofa  after  the  visitor  had  departed,  "  do  you  know  any- 


150  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

thing  about  Harry  Chester's  early  history  ?  Ho  spoke  to- 
night as  though  he  had  seen  hard  times." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  he  has,"  said  the  judge.  "  Any  man 
who  makes  himself,  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  all  the  more 
credit  to  him  if  he  gets  to  the  top  of  the  ladder.  Harry 
Chester  began  at  the  first  round,  and  if  he  goes  on  as  he 
has  commenced,  there  's  no  telling  where  he  will  stop." 

"  He  seems  to  be  a  great  favorite  of  yours,  papa.  Did 
he  tell  you  all  this  himself  ?" 

"  Not  he.  He  has  too  much  good  sense  to  intrude  his 
private  concerns  upon  other  people.  Squire  Patsley,  of 
Philadelphia,  told  me  about  the  young  man  when  he  first 
came  to  St.  Louis  three  years  ago.  It  seems  he  was 
brought  up  to  expect  a  fortune  from  an  old  gentleman, 
who  adopted  him  when  he  was  quite  a  boy,  but  just  after 
he  entered  college  the  old  fellow  died  without  a  will,  and 
the  whole  of  it  went  to  half  a  dozen  nieces  or  some  other 
relations.  How  he  managed  to  get  through  college,  or 
study  his  profession,  I  don't  know,  but  he  did  do  it,  and 
has  as  fair  a  practice  now  as  any  young  lawyer  in  the 
city.  These  are  the  kind  of  men  who  make  something." 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  why  you  must  send  him  'way  up  the 
country,  papa,  to  collect  debts  and  what  not.  If  he  is 
such  a  nice  young  man  we  want  to  keep  him  here." 

"  Because  he  can  attend  to  the  business  just  as  well  as 

I  can,  and  see  to  that  case  in  court  at  at  the  same 

time.  A  good  clear  head  for  business  he  has  too,"  said 
th 3  judge.  "I  liked  the  way  he  took  hold  of  that  case. 
A  promising  young  man!  a  very  promising  young  man!" 


CHAPTER  XT. 

CROSSING     THE     RUBICON. 

ItL  BELLE  CREEK,  was  the  name  of  a  small  stream,  which 
winding  through  the  patch  of  low  marshy  ground  skirting 
the  prairie,  finally  emptied  itself  into  the  muddy  waters 
of  the  Missouri.  Its  banks  were  thickly  covered  with  a 
growth  of  underbrush,  and  shaded  by  trees,  that  even  in 
winter  shut  out  the  full  rays  of  the  sun,  and  when  in 
foliage,  cast  a  dense  shadow  upon  the  water  beneath.  A 
rude  bridge,  constructed  of  logs,  crossed  the  stream  at  a 
point  where  the  road  led  down  to  its  banks,  but  the  fre- 
quent freshets  had  long  since  carried  off  its  main  supports, 
leaving  it  impassable  except  to  foot  passengers.  A  tree 
had  also  contributed  to  its  destruction,  falling  directly 
across  it,  and  crushing  one  end  nearly  down  to  the  water's 
edge. 

Upon  the  seat  thus  formed,  Fanny  Hunter  reclined  one 
mild  day  in  November,  gazing  listlessly  into  the  dark  water 
beneath,  and  now  and  then  lifting  her  eyes  with  an  ex- 
pectant glance,  to  a  narrow  footpath  leading  into  the 
thicket  on  the  other  side.  In  her  hand  she  held  a  bunch 
of  myrtle  leaves  ;  their  glossy  greenness  contrasting  beau- 
tifully with  the  bright  scarlet  of  a  few  berries  clinging  to 
a  withered  stem.  It  was  in  search  of  more  that  Fanny's 
companion  had  just  left  her,  pleased  with  the  admiration 
her  teacher  expressed  at  the  few,  and  saying  that  sho 
knew  of"  a  heap  yonder  in  the  thicket.  If  Miss  Fanny 


152  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

would  wait  a  minute  on  the  old  bridge  she  would  fetch 
them  directly." 

They  had  taken  a  long  ramble  since  four  o'clock,  and 
Fanny  was  but  too  glad  to  rest  a  few  moments  before 
starting  for  home.  But  moment  after  moment  passed, 
and  Maud  did  not  return.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the 
shadows  between  the  trees  grew  blacker  and  blacker. 
The  solitude  of  the  place  was  oppressive.  Fanny  began 
to  grow  nervous,  and  called  aloud  to  her  companion. 
There  was  no  answer.  She  he^'d  "  big  William"  on  the 
prairie,  calling  home  the  cattle  to  the  milking,  and  the  dis- 
tant whirring  of  a  flock  of  partridges,  but  this  was  all. 

To  add  to  her  alarm,  the  sound  of  a  horse's  hopfs  a 
moment  after  struck  her  ear,  apparently  coming  down  the 
road  leading  to  the  creek.  Fanny  knew  that  this  road 
had  fallen  entirely  into  disuse,  the  bridge  being  broken, 
and  the  stream  impassable  at  this  point.  A  moment's  re- 
flection dispersed  her  fears.  "  It 's  only  big  William 
hunting  up  the  cattle,"  she  thought  to  herself.  "  He  will 
take  the  path  to  the  thicket,  and  not  see  me  at  all  if  I  sit 
still."  The  horseman,  however,  seemed  to  have  no  biich 
intention,  for  he  appeared  a  moment  after  at  the  summit 
of  the  hill,  and  began  slowly  to  descend.  Checking  his 
horse  on  observing  the  ruined  condition  of  the  bridge,  he 
gazed  round  him  with  an  air  of  doubt  and  perplexity. 

By  the  dim  light  now  fading  fast  away  Fanny  could  not 
distinguish  the  stranger's  features,  but  his  form  was  erect, 
and  youthful,  and  his  general  appearance  that  of  a  gentle- 
man. Wondering  whether  she  was  observed,  she  sat  per- 
fectly quiet,  until  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  resumed 
the  descent,  having  apparently  made  xip  his  mind  to  ford 
the  stream  at  all  hazards,  though  its  angr)  appearance, 
and  the  swiftness  of  the  current,  ought  to  have  convinced 
him  that  it  was  impracticable. 


CROSSING    THE    RUBICON.  153 

reluctant  steed  had  taken  the  first  step  into  the 
x.*ter,  and  his  master  was  endeavoring  to  urge  him  for 
wnd.  when  a  voice  close  by  exclaimed, 

"  You  can't  cross  here,  sir.  The  ford  is  further  up  the 
Bti  earn." 

The  stranger  looked  up  with  a  start,  and  beheld  a  slight, 
chikdish  figure,  wrapped  in  a  dark  hood  and  mantle, 
perched  upon  the  old  bridge,  nearly  above  his  head. 

"  ifou  must  turn  back,"  said  the  soft  voice  again, 
"  the  current  here  is  too  rapid." 

44  And  who  are  you,  little  one,"  said  the  stranger,  "  set 
here  to  warn  belated  travelers  of  the  dangers  of  the  way  ?" 

44  N  o  matter  who  I  am,"  said  Fanny,  "  it 's  your  busi- 
ness to  take  my  advice  and  turn  back." 

44  Bui  where  am  I  to  go  ?"  said  the  young  man,  in  a 
perplexed  tone.  "  I  must  cross  the  creek  somewhere  to- 
night, and  one  place  is  as  bad  as  another,  I  suppose." 

44  O,  no,  there  is  a  crossing  a  little  way  np  the  stream, 
where  the  water  is  quite  shallow,"  said  Fanny. 

44  Ah,  well,  that  will  do ;  but  how  shall  I  find  it,  my  good 
girl  ?" 

44  Good  girl,  indeed  !"  thought  Fanny.  44  What  does 
the  man  take  me  to  be  ?" 

44 1  don't  know  that  I  can  tell  you  exactly,"  she  said, 
after  a  moment's  hesitation.  "  It 's  a  little  below  the  ben  1, 
I  think — no,  I  'm  wrong,  it 's  above." 

44  Do  you  know  the  place  ?" 

44  Perfectly  well." 

44  Come,  then,  you  have  proved  too  good  a  friend  thus 
far,  to  leave  me  in  the  lurch  now.  If  it  is  n't  too  far,  sup- 
pose  you  guide  me  to  the  crossing,  unless  your  friends  will 
feel  anxious  about  you,"  he  added.  44  It  is  late  for  little 
ones  like  you  to  be  out." 

44 1  must  be  remarkably  youthful  in  nay  appearance  to 

7* 


154  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

night,"  thought  Fanny,  greatly  amused  at  her  adventure. 
"  Well,  shall  I  go  with  him  ?  One  thing  is  certain,  I  'm 
safe  enough  while  I  keep  the  creek  between  us." 

"Ah,  well,  never  mind,"  said  the  stranger,  construing 
her  silence  into  reluctance.  "  I  presume  I  can  find  it  my- 
self. Many  thanks  for  your  timely  warning." 

"  I  will  show  you  the  way,  sir,"  said  Fanny.  "  Keep 
close  to  the  bank,  and  I  will  walk  along  on  this  side  of  the 
creek,  till  we  come  to  the  crossing." 

"  You  are  shy,"  said  the  young  man ;  "  well,  have  it 
your  own  way."  So  saying  he  turned  his  horse's  head, 
and  Fanny  descending  from  her  elevated  seat,  they  com- 
menced their  walk. 

It  was  a  short  one,  but  she  had  ample  time  to  plan  her 
escape,  for  she  had  no  desire  to  encounter  the  stranger's 
closer  observation.  Accordingly,  after  indicating  the  pre- 
cise spot  where  he  was  to  cross,  she  turned  and  fled  with 
such  rapid  steps,  as  to  be  entirely  hidden  in  the  darkness, 
before  the  young  man  discovered  her  absence. 

She  found  Maud  waiting  for  her  at  the  bridge,  and  only 
pausing  a  moment  to  relate  their  adventures,  they  hurried 
toward  home,  Fanny  requesting  her  companion  not  to 
speak  of  this  meeting  unless  questioned  respecting  it. 
She  thought  it  probable  that  the  stranger  she  had  just 
aided,  was  the  same  Mr.  Chester  who  was  expected  from 
St.  Louis,  and  whose  visit  Nanny  had  talked  about  everj 
day  for  a  week. 

"  We  won't  let  him  know,  Maud,  if  we  can  help  it,  that 
it  was  I  who  assisted  him  on  his  journey;  and  if  we  can 
only  get  there  first,  and  be  sitting  by  the  fire  with  our 
bonnets  and  shawls  off,  he  will  never  suspect  us." 

So  saying,  Fanny  hastened  on,  and  taking  a  short  cut 
across  the  plowed  ground,  they  reached  the  house  just  as 
Martha  was  bringing  in  the  first  plate  of  batter-cakes 


CROSSING    THE    RUBICON.  155 

the  kitchen.  Throwing  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  Fanny 
seated  herself  at  the  table,  and  was  quietly  sipping  her 
coffee,  when  a  loud  barking  of  the  dogs,  followed  by  a 
knock  at  the  door,  announced  an  arrival. 

44  It 's  Bob  Turner,"  said  Nanny,  smoothing  her  collar, 
and  arranging  her  hair. 

"  No  it  ain't,  he  's  gone  to  Cartersville,"  said  Dave. 

"Well,  run  to  the  door,  David,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett, 
44  and  Marthy,  wipe  the  'lasses  off  of  Johnny's  face. 
Goodness !  what  a  looking  table." 

In  the  midst  of  the  confusion  that  followed,  the  visitor 
entered,  and  Fanny  recognized  at  a  glance  the  hero  of 
her  adventure.  Advancing  with  a  free  and  gentlemanly 
air,  he  introduced  himself  as  Mr.  Chester,  of  St.  Louis, 
and  receiving  a  cordial  welcome  from  the  family,  in  five 
minutes  was  seated  with  them  at  the  table.  He  made 
himself  at  home  directly,  adopting,  as  Fanny  thought  with 
great  tact,  the  frank,  jovial  manner  most  pleasing  to  west- 
ern people,  and  well  calculated  to  remove  any  restraint 
his  presence  might  have  inspired. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  he  related  his  adventure 
at  the  bridge,  laughingly  describing  Fanny  as  some  wood- 
nymph,  or  spirit,  who,  after  guiding  him  through  the 
danger,  sank  into  the  ground,  or  suddenly  disappeared  in 
some  equally  mysterious  way. 

44  She  did  you  a  good  service,  whoever  she  was,"  said 
Dave.  "  There 's  a  mighty  deep  hole  just  under  the 
bridge,  and  the  current  sweeps  round  it  like  a  whirlpool 
It 's  a  plaguy  dangerous  place,  anyhow." 

"I  can't  think  who  it  could  be,"  said  Miss  Nanny. 
"There's  Milly  Turner;  she  lives  just  over  the  creek; 
but  they  are  mighty  choice  of  her,  and  would  n't  let  her 
be  out  after  night  for  any  thing,  Besides,  she  'a  a  dread 


156  WESTERN    BOBBER    LIFE. 

ful  timid  child  herself.  Do  you  remember  what  she 
looked  like,  or  how  she  was  dressed,  Mr.  Chester  ?" 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  only  know  a  little  thing  hailed  me 
from  the  top  of  the  bridge,  in  a  voice  as  low  and  soft  as  a 
silver  bell,  guided  me  safe  to  the  landing,  flitting  through 
the  woods  among  the  trees  like  a  fairy  as  she  was,  and 
when  I  looked  to  behold  her,  lo !  she  had  vanished  into 
thin  air." 

"  Mebbe  't  was  a  spirit,"  said  Maud,  with  wide  open 
eyes.  "  There  was  a  man  drowned  in  the  creek  once,  and 
Aunt  Tibby  says  his  ghost  comes  and  walks  there  nights." 

"  Nonsense,  Maud,"  said  Nanny. 

"  Well,  I  don't  car',  Aunt  Tibby  and  Uncle  Jake  saw 
him  one  night,  when  they  was  comin'  home  from  corn- 
shuckin'.  He  had  a  great  club  in  his  hand,  and  something 
white  over  his  head." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dave,  "  a  great  ghost  that.  Some  thievish 
nigger  comin'  home  from  eorn-stealin'." 

"Mine  was  no  bad  spirit,"  said  Mr.  Chester;  "of  that 
I  am  convinced.  Its  mission  was  to  warn  me  of  hidden 
dangers,  and  guide  me  into  safe  paths.  I  should  like  just 
such  a  guardian  angel  all  my  life." 

"  Well,  it 's  a  wonder  to  me  who  it  could  be,"  said  Mrs. 
Catlett. 

u  So  let  it  remain,"  said  the  young  man ;  "  I  hardly 
want  the  mystery  explained.  I  am  going  to  amuse  my- 
self by  thinking  that  a  new  era  has  dawned  upon  me,  and 
that  henceforth  I  am  to  be  attended  in  all  my  wanderings 
by  the  little  fairy  sprite,  who  is  only  to  make  herself  visi 
ble  in  times  of  great  peril  and  distress." 

"  Now,  Miss  Fanny,"  said  Nanny,  after  the  visitor  had 
retired  for  the  night,  "  we  shall  have  somebody  to  wait  on 
us  to  church  besides  Dave.  A  town  gentleman,  too,  fixed 
up  in  his  kid  gloves  and  gold  chain.  Sha'n't  we  feel  crank? 


CROSSING    THE    RUBICON.  157 

Somehow  town  gentlemen  appear  so  different  from  any 
body  round  here.  What  ?s  the  reason,  ma  ?" 

"  It 's  'cause  they  are  so  fixy,  Nan,"  said  Maria,  "  that  'a 
all.  You  and  Belle  Boynton  now  will  be  pullin'  caps  for 
the  city  beau  ;  but  I  don't  see  why  he  's  any  better  than 
Tom  Walton  or  Bob  Turner." 

44  They  are  all  a  set  of  monkeys,"  said  "  Massa  Dave," 
scornfully,  "jingling  their  watch-chains  and  talking  non- 
bense  to  the  girls.  It 's  about, all  they  're  good  for,  in  the 
long  run." 

"  Dave  is  put  out  'cause  the  town  gentleman  is  so  much 
better  lookin'  than  he  is,"  said  Cal.  "  He  's  afraid  Misa 
Fanny  will  like  him  best." 

"  Shut  up,"  said  her  brother,  in  no  very  gentle  tone. 
"  You  children  talk  too  much." 

"  He  is  mighty  good-looking,"  said  Nanny,  "  and  not  a 
bit  stuck  up  for  all  he  was  dressed  so  fine.  I  felt  kinder 
afraid  of  him  at  first ;  but,  lor,  he  was  just  as  easy  as  any 
of  us,  a/id  hitched  his  chair  up  to  the  fire  like  he  was  at 
home.  I  reckon  we  shall  have  grand  times  Christinas." 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

MORE     DISTRESS. 

"Do  you  ride  to-day,  Mr.  Chester?*'  inquired  Dave  the 
next  morning  at  breakfast. 

"  Yes,  the  court  meets  at .  I  must  be  off  directly, 

for  it 's  quite  a  ride.  Some  ten  or  fifteen  miles,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"  Well,  I  '11  go  along  as  far  as  the  store,  I  reckon ; 
Marthy,  go  tell  Jake  to  gear  the  horses." 

It  was  a  bright,  clear  morning,  and  Fanny  stood  in  the 
open  doorway  after  the  gentlemen  had  gone,  admiring  the 
winter  landscape  spread  out  before  her.  Directly  in  front, 
lay  the  open  prairie,  its  brown  surface  spotted  here  and 
there  with  groups  of  cattle  turned  out  every  day  to  pick 
up  what  nourishment  they  could  from  its  dry  and  scanty 
grass.  On  one  side,  the  windings  of  the  creek  could  be 
traced,  by  the  row  of  tall  trees  that  skirted  its  banks,  and 
on  the  other,  a  picturesque-looking  log-house,  the  blue 
smoke  curling  from  its  chimney,  relieved  the  monotony 
of  the  scene,  and  gave  token  of  life  and  activity  in  this 
wild  spot. 

From  the  wood-lot  near  the  creek,  was  borne  on  the 
Btill  air,  each  stroke  of  the  hewer's  ax ;  and  the  bleating 
of  the  sheep,  and  the  lowing  of  the  cattle  on  the  prairie, 
could  be  distinctly  heard.  The  turkeys,  geese,  ducks,  and 
guinea-fowls  in  the  yard,  kept  up  a  continual  clatter,  whilo 


MORE    DISTRESS.  15& 

two  or  three  gaunt  hounds  lay  sunning  themselves  in  the 
porch  and  under  the  eaves  of  the  house.  There  was  some- 
thing cheerful  and  invigorating  in  the  scene,  and  Fanny 
stood  in  the  doorway  till  a  touch  on  the  arm  drew  her 
attention,  and,  turning  round,  she  perceived  black  Martha 
waiting  to  speak  with  her. 

She  was  a  stout,  full-grown  mulatto  girl,  on  whose  good- 
looking  face  a  smile  was  generally  to  be  found,  and  whose 
musical  voice,  singing  some  camp-meeting  hymn,  or  wild 
negro  melody,  Fanny  had  often  heard  as  she  sat  in  school. 
Like  most  of  the  women,  she  was  indolent  and  careless, 
but  so  perfectly  good-humored,  that  all  Mrs.  Catlett's 
scolding  failed  to  disturb  her  equanimity,  and  her  mistress 
was  often  more  provoked  at  the  stupid  unconcern  with 
which  she  received  her  severest  reprimands,  than  she 
would  have  been  had  she  given  a  saucy  reply.  "  Yes, 
Miss  Car'line,"  Martha  would  say,  submissively,  and  per 
haps  repeat  the  offense  five  minutes  after. 

"  Well,  Martha,"  said  Fanny  encouragingly,  "  what  do 
you  want  ?'" 

"Tilla  done  tell  me  how  Miss  Fanny  pick  her  up  off  de 
star'  t'  other  night.  So  good  an'  kind  now,  won't  think 
no  harm  if  I  ask  somfin  ?"  said  Martha. 

"  O,  no,  Martha.     What  is  it  ?" 

"  Miss  Fanny,  it 's  Tilla,"  said  Martha  with  sudden  en- 
ergy. "  'Pears  like  I  can't  live  no  ways  and  see  de  way 
dey  goes  on  wid  dat  child.  Miss  Car'line  say  she  ain't  n<? 
'count ;  but,  Miss  Fanny,  she  's  all  I 's  got,  and  to  see  hei 
jest  pinin'  away  to  skin  and  bone,  with  nobody  to  see  tc 
her  but  me,  and  now  they  's  goin'  to  send  me  off,  and 
she  '11  be  left  all  alone.  O  lors  what  shall  I  do  ?"  *nd  Mar 
tha  covered  her  face  with  her  apron. 

"Going  to  send  you  off,  Martha?     Where?" 

"  Why,  long  Mass'  Dave,  Miss  Fanny,  over  tc 


160  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

Aunt  Tibby,  she  hearn  'em  talkin'  about  it  last  night, 
and  Uncle  Tim,  and  Jerry,  and  Aunt  Adeline,  and  me, 
we  's  all  goin'  to  be  sent.  Aunt  Adeline,  she  's  glad, 
'cause  she  's  Massa  Dave's  nurse,  you  know  ;  but  how  can 
I  leave  my  poor  child,  my  Tilla." 

"  Is  Tilla  your  sister,  Martha  ?"  said  Fanny. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Fanny,  dar's  only  us  two  left.  Daddy  died 
wic  de  fever,  and  dey  sold  mammy  down  river,  when 
Tilla  was  a  little  suckin'  baby.  She  put  her  into  my  arms, 
she  did,  and  telled  me  to  take  car'  ob  her,  and  be  a  mam- 
my to  her,  and  now — " 

Martha's  voice  was  broken  by  her  sobs,  and  the  old 
ragged  apron  was  thrown  over  her  face. 

"  You  see,  Miss  Fanny,"  she  said  at  length,  "  she  wag 
allers  a  little  sickly  thing — 'pears  like  she  neber  got  over 
bein'  tuck  from  her  mammy ;  she  jest  pined  and  pined ; 
and  Miss  Car'line  she  got  sot  agin  her  den,  and  said  dar 
wa'n't  no  use  in  tryin'  to  raise  de  brat.  O,  Miss  Fanny, 
I  thought  heaps  of  her ;  an'  I  neber  lef  off  watchin'  and 
tendin'  her,  and  I  prayed  de  good  Lord  jest  to  leave  me 
Aer,  and  he  did;  and  now  dey  keeps  her  workin',  and 
strainin',  and  toatin'  Miss  Hetty  round,  and  no  rest  day 
nor  night ;  and  O  Lors  how  ken  I  bar'  it  ?" 

"  Have  you  told  your  mistress  how  sick  she  is,  Martha." 

"  Have  I !  Miss  Fanny  ?  I 's  been  down  on  my  knees, 
and  jest  begged  her  for  de  dear  Lord's  sake,  to  be  good 
to  Tilla.  She  won't  hear  to  me,  'cause  she  say  Tilla's 
contrary,  and  it 's  all  crossness ;  but  O  !  Miss  Fanny,  when 
de  body  's  ailin',  'tain't  nat'ral  to  be  allers  jest  so.  Miss 
Hetty,  she  's  curus  times,  and  Tilla  bein'  weakly,  can't 
bar'  so  much  as  some.  She's  a  growin'  weaker  all  do 
while,  and  some  day  she '11  jest  lie  down  an'  die,  she  will !'; 

"What  can  I  do  to  help  you,  Martha?"  said  Fanny, 
gently. 


MORE     DISTRESS.  161 

"  I  don'no,  Miss  Fanny,  'less  you  could  speak  to  Miss 
Car'line  'bout  it.  Mebbe  she  'd  hear  to  you.  You  see 
you  might  tell  her  how  you  see  Tilla  was  weakly  like,  and 
not  let  on  dat  I  'd  been  jawin'  'bout  it.  If  Miss  Fanny 
icould  speak  to  ole  Missus  now  ?" 

She  seized  Fanny's  arm  in  her  eagerness,  and  awaited 
her  answer,  as  though  her  life  depended  upon  it. 

"I  will,  Martha,"  said  Fanny;  "I  will  do  the  best  T 
can  for  you." 

"  O,  bless  you,  Miss  Fanny,  I  knew  you  would,  and — 
and  you  '11  ask  her  not  to  send  me  to  Kanzas  with  Mass' 
Dave,  and  leave  my  poor  child  all  alone,  won't  you  ? 
Yes,  Miss  Car'line,  I 's  comin,"  she  called  out  cheerfully, 
as  her  mistress's  fretful  tones  were  heard  at  the  door  of 
the  breakfast  room. 

Martha's  anxious  face  haunted  Fanny  all  that  day,  and 
she  watched  for  an  early  opportunity  to  speak  to  Mrs. 
Catlett  alone.  It  was  not  long  before  one  presented  it- 
self. That  very  evening,  as  Tilla  was  tottering  across  the 
room  under  the  weight  of  her  young  mistress,  she  was  so 
unfortunate  as  to  encounter  Master  Johnny  under  full 
headway,  and  not  being  strong  enough  to  resist  the  shock, 
the  two  fell  backward,  Miss  Hetty  bumping  her  head  se- 
verely upon  the  hard  floor.  Mrs.  Catlett  was  excessively 
angry,  and  seizing  the  trembling  culprit,  she  bestowed 
upon  her  what  Fanny  thought  a  very  heavy  punishment 
for  the  offense.  The  child's  piteous  cries  as  the  blows  fell 
thick  and  fast  upon  her  bare  neck  and  shoulders,  of  "O  Miss 
Car'line !  O  please,  Miss  Car'line !  I  did  n't  go  to  do  it ! 
O,  I  will  be  good  !  O  dear !  dear  !"  went  to  Fanny's  heart, 
and  she  lingered  a  moment  after  the  rest  retired  for  the 
night,  to  intercede  for  the  poor  child. 

"  Mrs.  Catlett,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  say  a  word  to  you 
about  Tilla.  I  think  the  child  is  sick." 


02  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

"  Do  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  laughing.  "  Well,  when 
've  seen  as  much  of  lazy  niggers  as  I  have,  you  '11 
change  your  mind." 

44  But  she  shows  it  in  her  looks,"  said  Fanny.  "  There's 
an  expression  of  pain  on  her  face  all  the  time.  I  am  sure 
she  is  sick." 

44  She 's  no  more  sick  than  you  are,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett. 
44  She 's  growin'  up  rather  spindlin'  to  be  sure,  and  those 
yellow  niggers  always  look  ashy." 

44  But  she  seems  to   have  no   strength,"  said  Fanny. 

44  No,  I  reckon  not.  I  never  saw  any  of  'em  that  did, 
when  there  was  any  work  to  be  done.  She  had  strength 
enough  to  fight  me  awhile  ago,  when  I  was  whipping  her. 
The  good-for-nothing  thing  !  She  '11  beat  the  baby's  brains 
out  with  her  carelessness  one  of  these  days — mother's  pre- 
cious little  darling !"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  with  a  loving  glance 
toward  the  cradle. 

44  It  was  an  accident,  Mrs.  Catlett,"  said  Fanny,  gently. 
44 1  saw  her  when  she  fell.  I  believe  she  would  no  mure 
harm  little  Hetty  than  you  would.  She  seems  very  fond 
of  her.  But  I  really  think  she  is  not  strong  enough  to  do 
much  at  present." 

44  Well,  I  should  like  to  know  what  she  has  to  do,  Miss 
Fanny,  except  to  mind  the  baby  ?" 

44  Hetty  is  getting  quite  large  and  strong,  you  know, 
especially  for  a  sickly  child  to  carry  about.  I  am  sure  it 
is  hurting  her  very  much." 

44 1  declare,  Miss  Fanny,  one  would  think  we  were  work- 
ing the  child  to  death  to  hear  you  run  on.  I  'spose  she's 
been  takin'  on  to  you  about  it,  sniveling  and  frettin'." 

44  No,  Mrs.  Catlett,  I  found  her  on  the  stairs  the  other 
night,  and  she  seemed  so  sick  and  appeared  to  be  in  such 
pain,  that  it  excited  my  sympathy.  I  thought,  perhaps§ 
with  all  your  cares,  you  might  not  have  observed  her." 


MORE    DISTRESS.  163 

"  Well,  now,  Miss  Fanny,  you  see  you  don't  know  the 
first  thing  about  it.  It  is  n't  at  all  with  our  servants  here, 
as  it  is  with  yours  in  New  England.  I  'spose  there  they  '11 
work  as  long  as  they  can  stand,  because  they  get  pay  for  it, 
but  here  its  jest  drive,  drive  all  the  while,  to  get  any  thing 
out  of 'em.  I  've  known  'em  to  lie  by  for  weeks  and  weeks, 
to  get  rid  of  work,  and  they  'd  be  so  cunning  and  put 
on  so,  any  body  that  wasn't  used  to  'em,  would  think 
they  were  ready  to  step  off.  Now  that  Tilla,  she's 
peart  enough  when  she  chooses,  but  I  'spose  she  saw  you 
look  soft  and  pitying-like,  and  so  she  went  to  playing  off 
her  tantrums.  She  don't  come  to  me  with  her  complaints, 
she  knows  better." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Catlett,  it  does  seem  to  me  that  there  's  no 
deception  in  the  case.  Wouldn't  it  be  possible  to  give 
Tilla  a  chance  to  get  well,  and  let  one  of  the  other  chil- 
dren take  her  place  a  little  while.  Aunt  Phebe  would 
nurse  her  up,  and  make  another  child  of  her." 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  with  sudden  energy,  "  she 
shall  do  no  such  thing.  We  should  have  half  the  servants 
on  the  place  settin'  up  .to  be  sick.  You  had  better  let 
these  things  alone,  Miss  Fanny.  Mr.  Catlett  never  had 
the  name  of  being  hard  on  his  hands,  and  the  great 
trouble  with  me  is  they  run  right  over  my  head.  If  you 
begin  to  listen  to  all  their  complaints,  you  '11  soon  have 
your  hands  full,  I  tell  you.  Let  'em  all  alone,  that  *s  my 
advice." 

Fanny  turned  away  with  a  sigh.  It  was  hard  to  roply 
to  Martha's  anxious  inquiring  look,  the  next  morning,  by 
a  silent  shake  of  the  head,  and  to  see  poor  Tilla  day  after 
day  plodding  wearily  under  her  burden,  but  there  was  no 
help  for  it,  and  Fanny  by  this  time  knew  Mrs.  Catlett  too 
well  ever  to  renew  the  discussion. 


CHAPTER    XYII. 

CLOSER   INTRODUCTION  TO    A   KANZAS   SETTLEB. 

"  MA,"  said  Maria  one  day,  "  there  's  going  to  be  a  big 
meetin'  up  the  creek  next  Tuesday.  Can't  we  go  ?" 

"  Where,  child  ?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett. 

"  Up  the  creek,  in  Mount  Zion  Church,  you  know. 
It 's  only  a  little  ways,  and  we  want  to  go." 

"  Well,  you  can't.  Nobody  but  poor  white  folks  go  to 
big  meetins.  There  '11  be  a  perfect  tribe  of  'era  there,  and 
I  don't  want  you  mixed  in  with  'em." 

"  Why,  ma,  the  Turners  are  all  going,  and  Mr.  Boyn- 
ton's  people,  and  most  every  body  on  the  prairie.  .It's 
right  respectable." 

u  Who  told  you  the  Turners  are  all  going,  'Ria  ?" 

"  Jinny  Turner  her  ownself,  at  church  to-day.  O,  ma, 
do  let  us  go  !"  • 

"  What !  and  give  up  school  a  whole  day,  child?" 

u  O  !  Miss  Fanny  won't  mind  jest  for  one  day.  We 
have  n't  had  a  holiday  this  long  time  back." 

"Well,  how  are  you  going  to  get  there,  and  wrho '11 
take  care  of  you  all  day.  Dave  can't  go ;  he  'sgot  to  pack 
up  that  tobacco." 

"  Nanny  says  she  '11  go,  and  I  reckon  Miss  Fanny  will 
too.  Mr.  Chester,  the  town  gentleman,  would,  only  he  's 
so  busy  with  his  law  business.  But,  ma,  if  you  will  let 
big  William  drive  us  over  the  creek  in  the  farm  wagon, 


INTRODUCTION     TO     A     KANZAS     SETTLEK.      165 

rt'e  can  walk  the  rest  of  the  way  jest  as  easy  as  not,  and 
then  he  can  come  after  us  at  night,  you  know." 

"  Well,  there  's  your  dinner." 

"  We  can  take  a  snack,  ma.  Every  body  does  to  big 
uieetin'." 

"  We  might  go  to  Madam  Gamby's  for  dinner,"  sug- 
gested Cal.  "  It 's  only  a  little  ways  from  Mount  Zion 
Church,  and  she  's  been  here  a  dozen  times  to  eat  since 
we  've  been  there." 

"  Yes,  you  might  do  that,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.  "  Well, 
I  don't  know  as  I  care ;  if  Miss  Fanny's  a  mind  to  give  up 
school,  and  will  go  and  take  care  of  you,  I  reckon  you  can  go." 

"  I  too  ?"  said  Johnny. 

"  O,  no,  Johnny,  you  are  too  little.  You  stay  at  home 
and  keep  ma  company — there  's  a  good  boy." 

"Miss  Fanny '11  go,  I  know  she  will,"  said  Maria, 
"  'cause  she  never  went  to  a  big  meetin',  and  I  mean  to 
tell  her  what  fun  it  is." 

"Well,  don't  you  say  a  word  to  your  father  when  he 
comes  home,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.  "  He  'd  take  my  head 
off  if  he  knew  I  let  you  go,  he  's  so  choice  of  having  his 
children  mix  up  with  the  common  folks." 

It  was  not  difficult  to  obtain  Fanny's  consent  to"  the 
plan,  and  the  morning  proving  bright  and  clear,  every 
thing  was  arranged  to  the  children's  satisfaction.  Leav- 
ing the  farm  wagon  the  other  side  of  the  old  bridge,  just 
where  the  horse  path  led  up  from  the  creek,  they  pursued 
.  their  way  slowly  on  foot.  Their  path  for  some  distance 
wound  along  the  bank,  and  then,  striking  into  the  woods, 
led  them  through  bush,  and  briar,  and  tangled  under- 
brush, into  the  very  depths  of  the  forest.  While  they 
were  yet  struggling  with  its  difficulties,  tripping  over  leaf- 
covered  roots,  and  catching  their  dresses  in  the  clinging 
briars,  a  confused  sound  of  voices  broke  upon  their  ears, 


106  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

and  the  children  came  running  back  to  tell  them  "  that 
meetin'  had  begun,  for  they  heard  'em  singmV  They 
stopped  a  moment  to  listen,  and  the  children's  merry 
voices  were  hushed,  as  the  solemn  cadence  rose  and  fell 
upon  the  morning  air,  now  swelling  full  and  clear,  as  the 
breeze  bore  the  sounds  toward  them,  and  now  sinking 
to  a  low  murmur,  which  died  among  the  trees. 

With  slower  steps,  and  serious  faces,  they  pursued  their 
way,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  emerged  from  the  woods 
upon  a  gentle  slope  of  ground,  where,  surrounded  by 
beech  and  maple-trees,  stood  the  little  log  church.  Horses 
were  tied  to  the  trees  in  great  numbers,  while  the  wagons 
from  which  they  had  been  detached,  stood  near  at  hand. 
Not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen  outside  the  building,  and  flushed 
and  wearied  with  their  walk,  they  sat  down  under  an  old 
tree  to  rest. 

The  congregation  were  still  singing,  but  what  the  music 
had  gained  in  power,  it  had  lost  in  solemnity.  Its  harmony 
and  softness  were  all  gone,  and  the  low  murmur  was  ex- 
changed for  a  deafening  chorus,  in  which  voices  of  every 
conceivable  variety — base,  tenor,  and  treble — vied  with 
each  other  to  make  the  most  noise. 

At  the  top  of  their  lungs  they  were  singing, 

"  I  want  to  go  I 
I  want  to  go ! 
T  want  to  go  there  too  I 
I  want  to  go  where  Moses  is ! 
I  want  to  go  there  too !" 

their  voices  growing  more  and  more  vigorous  with  every 
line,  until  at  the  last  they  reached  the  very  climax  of  vio 
lence,  and  shouted 

"  I  want — to— go— there — too  /" 
as  though  they  would  bring  the  roof  down. 


INTRODUCTION    TO     A     KANZAS     SETTLER.     167 

"  Come,  let.  's  go  in,"  said  'Ria,  after  they  had  listened 
to  a  couple  of  stanzas. 

"  Wait  till  they  get  through  singing,  'Ria." 

"  Lors,  Miss  Fanny,  't  will  take  'em  an  hour.  When 
they  sing  '  I  want  to  go  !'  they  just  begin  at  Adam,  and 
go  clean  through  the  Bible.  They've  only  got  to  Moses 
you  see,  yet." 

The  door  was  wide  open,  and  struggling  through  the 
crowd  they  entered  the  low  building.  It  was  literally 
jammed  with  people,  in  all  sorts  of  positions,  sitting, 
kneeling,  standing,  and  a  few  lying  flat  upon  the  floor. 
Even  a  rough  plank  overhead,  which  in  some  way  helped 
to  support  the  roof,  was  thickly  crowded  writh  men  and 
boys,  who  sat  dangling  their  limbs  above  the  crowd. 

Fanny  gazed  with  astonishment  at  the  strange  assembly 
in  the  log  church.  There  were  young  men  and  maidens, 
old  men  and  children,  but  of  a  description  that  she  had 
never  seen  before. 

It  was  not  their  poverty  of  dress  that  surprised  her, 
though  she  had  seldom  seen  so  ragged  and  forlorn  a  set, 
but  a  certain  look  upon  their  unhealthy  countenances,  a 
sullen,  cowed  expression,  that  told  volumes  of  abject  suf- 
fering, and  humiliation.  Middle-aged  men  were  there, 
upon  whose  unshaven  faces  there  was  none  of  that  look 
of  manly  self-reliance  that  characterizes  the  same  class  of 
laboring  men  in  New  England ;  and  women,  in  old  straw 
bonnets,  and  rusty  black  shawls,  whose  sallow,  care-worn 
countenances,  and  wrinkled  brows,  bore  the  same  hope- 
less expression  ;  —  untidy  girls,  and  great,  shambling, 
stupid-faced  boys,  and  little  puny  children,  with  un- 
combed hair,  and  frocks  sewed  together  at  the  back,  to 
keep  them  from  falling  to  pieces.  A  few  there  were  of  a 
different  stamp,  neighboring  families,  who,  like  Mr.  Cat 
lett's  children  were  well  dressed,  and  in  every  respect 


168  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

superior,  but  the  body  of  the  assembly  was  made  up  of 
that  miserable  and  despised  class,  to  be  found  in  every 
slave  State—"  poor  white  folks." 

The  singing  ceased,  and  a  tall,  bony  man,  near  the  altar, 
( ommenced  a  long  exhortation,  cheered  on  by  groans  and 
ejaculations.  Then  some  one  struck  up, 

"  I  'm  bound  for  the  kingdom, 
Will  you  go  to  glory  with  me  ?" 

It  was  sung  amid  shouts,  and  groans,  and  clapping  of 
hands,  and,  before  it  was  finished,  a  young  man  upon  the 
seat  overhead,  who  for  some  moments  had  exhibited  signs 
of  great  excitement,  suddenly  ulost  his  strength,"  and  fell 
upon  the  crowd  below.  This  was  the  signal  for  a  general 
tumult.  In  a  moment  half  a  dozen  were  on  their  knees, 
praying  over  him,  others  were  shouting,  and  calling  on 
the  -saints  to  praise  the  Lord.  There  were  sobs,  and 
groans,  and  shrieks.  A  woman  started  up  in  the  corner, 
clapping  her  hands,  and  in  a  shrill  voice  cried,  "  Glory ! 
glory !"  then  falling  from  her  place,  some  one  loosened 
her  bonnet  strings,  and  her  long  black  hair  swept  the 
floor,  while  with  her  pale  lips  she  still  continued  to  whisper 
"  Glory  !" 

Suddenly  a  man  rose  from  his  knees,  and  turning  with 
flushed  face  to  the  people,  himself  trembling  in  every 
limb,  he  cried  out,  "  I  do  confess  my  sin  this  day.  May 
the  Lord  have  mercy  upon  me.  I  am  defiled  with  blood  ! 
I  have  slain  a  man  to  my  wounding,  and  a  young  man  to 
my  hurt.'  Pray  for  me,  ye  children  of  the  Lord." 

uWhy  it's  Colonel  Turner,"  said  'Riat  "What's 
coine  over  him,  to  talk  Methodist  this  way  ?5' 

The  people  were  greatly  affected  by  the  appearance  of 
such  a  man  of  mark  under  conviction.  The  shouting  and 


THE  BORDBK  PREACHER. 


INTRODUCTION     TO     A     KANZAS     SETTLER.    109 

singing  recommenced  with  vigor,  while  the  ministers  neai 
the  altar,  pressed  forward  to  speak  with  him. 

Up  to  this  moment  Fanny  had  thought  of  nothing  but 
the  scene  before  her,  but  a  suppressed  sob  drawing  hei 
attention  to  Maud,  who  was  seated  at  her  side,  she  was 
startled  at  the  expression  of  her  face.  The  child  had 
risen  from  her  seat,  and  with  her  hands  clasped,  and  hei 
really  beautiful  eyes  full  of  tears,  was  gazing  intently  be 
fore  her. 

"  O  !'•  she  said  with  a  long  sigh,  as  Fanny  took  hei 
hand,  "  I  wish  I  could  die  here  !" 

Her  lip  quivered,  arid  she  burst  into  tears.  Fanny  bent 
down,  and  strove  to  soothe  her  excited  feelings,  but  she 
was  trembling  all  over,  and  her  agitation  seemed  to  in- 
crease every  moment.  Whispering  to  Nanny  that  she 
would  wait  for  her  in  the  grove,  she  took  Maud's  hand, 
and  they  crowded  their  way  out  of  the  house.  They 
walked  a  little  way,  and  sitting  down  on  a  log  with  her 
arm  about  the  child's  waist,  Fanny  waited  till  she  was 
juite  calm,  and  then  inquired  into  the  cause  of  her  agita- 
tion. 

"  What  was  it,  Maud  ?"  she  said. 
"  I  don't  know,  Miss  Fanny,  I  never  felt  so  before." 
"  How  did  you  feel,  Maud  ?» 

"O,  so  queer.  Like  I  wanted  to  laugh  and  cry  all  at 
once.  And  O  !  Miss  Fanny,  when  that  pale  woman  whis- 
pered glory,  glory,  it  almost  killed  me.  I  wanted  to  do 
jest  so,  and  scream,  and  cry  as  the  rest  did.  Why  did 
you  make  me  come  away  ?" 

"  Because  you  were  so  excited,  Maud.  The  noise  and 
confusion  had  almost  taken  away  your  senses." 

"  But  it  was  real  good,  Miss  Fanny.  Mebbe  if  I  had 
stayed  there  I  should  have  got  religion  too." 

44  What  do  you  mean  by  getting  religion,  Maud  ?" 

8 


170  WESTEKNBOKDERLIFE. 

r? 

44  O,  prayin',  and  shoutin',  and  all  that,  jest  as  these 
people  in  the  big  meetin'  are  doin'." 

"  Is  that  all  ?" 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  afterward  they  read  the  Bible,  and  go 
to  meetin'." 

"  Is  that  all  ?" 

"  I  reckon  so,  Miss  Fanny." 

"  Ought  they  not  to  be  sorry  for  their  sins,  and  lead 
different  lives  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child,  carelessly. 

44  And  how  did  you  feel  in  the  big  meeting ;  like  giving 
up  your  sins,  and  praying  God  to  forgive  you,  and  begin- 
ning a  new  life  ?" 

"  Lors,  Miss  Fanny,  I  did  n't  think  any  thing  about 
that.  I  jest  thought  how  happy  I  \vas,  and  that  I  should 
love  to  get  right  up,  and  shout  and  sing  as  the  rest  did, 
and  then — and  then  you  made  me  come  away." 

"  Well,  suppose  I  had  let  you  stay  there,  and  you  had 
got  religion,  as  you  call  it,  how  would  you  know  that  you 
had  really  found  Jesus  Christ?" 

"  Why  I  should  jest  know  1  had,  Miss  Fanny." 

"  Because  you  shouted  and  sang  with  the  rest  of  them, 
Maud  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  reckon,"  said  the  child,  looking  puzzled. 

"  And  then  if  you  should  go  home,  and  keep  on  living 
just  as  you  had  before,  and  doing  things  that  you  knew 
were  wicked,  and  that  God  had  told  you  not  to,  would 
that  be  living  a  Christian,  Maud  ?" 

"  No,  Miss  Fanny.     I  ought  to  mind  Him  too." 

44  Just  so,  Maud.  So  you  see  it  is  n't  by  singing  and 
shouting  that  we  can  tell  whether  people  are  really  good 
and  love  God,  but  by  the  lives  they  livo,  and  whether 
they  always  are  ready  to  serve  Him." 

44  Aunt  Phebe  is,"  said  Maud. 


INTRODUCTION     T  O     A     K  A  N  Z  A  S     S  E  T  T  L  E  K .    171 

"  Yes,  I  believe  she  is,"  said  Fanny.  "  We  can  ail 
learn  something  from  Aunt  Phebe's  earnest  piety." 

"  Look !  Miss  Fanny,  meetin'  s  broke  up,"  said  Maud. 
"  They  all  come  pourin'  out  like  a  flock  of  sheep.  Now 
they  '11  eat  their  bacon  and  corn-bread  under  the  trees.  I 
reckon  they  '11  be  cold  enough,  though.  O !  there 's 
Nanny  and  the  girls.  I  wonder  if  they  see  us.  Yes, 
they  are  coming  this  way." 

"  Hurry,  children,"  said  Nanny,  "  for  if  we  are  ever  so 
little  behind  the  time,  Madam  Gamby  will  have  dinner  all 
cleared  away.  She  's  just  stingy  enough  to  be  glad  of  the 
excuse." 

"  Well,  we  might  have  taken  a  snack  like  the  rest  of  the 
people,"  said  Cal.  "  Who  wants  to  trudge  way  over  here 
for  a  bit  of  bacon  and  c'orn-bread.  It 's  all  Madam  Gamby 
gives  you,  anyhow.  The  last  time  she  had  a  dinin'-day, 
there  fairly  was  n't  enough  for  second  table,  and  she  cut 
the  cake  in  slices  about  as  thick  as  a  piece  of  thread  paper." 
"  She  's  a  regular  sere  we  r,  but  I  'd  rather  take  my 
chance  with  her,  than  to  sit  down  under  the  trees  with 
all  them  poor  white  folks,"  said  Maria.  "  Nanny  don't 
let's  tell  ma  how  many  they  was  there.  I  was  right 
shamed  myself  to  be  seen." 

"Pooh!  I  wasn't,"  said  Cal.  "They  won't  hurt  us  if 
we  keep  our  distance." 

"  Look  yonder,    Nanny !"  said  Maud.     "  There  's    old 
Aunt  Fatty  toatin'  a  great  apron  full  of  light  wood  up  the 
hill.     It 's  a  shame  to  make  such  an  old  woman  work  any 
how." 

"  Hush,  Maud !  she  '11  hear  you." 

"  No  she  won't,  she  's  as  deaf  as  a  post.  How'dy  Aunt 
Fatty,"  screamed  Maud  at  the  top  of  her  voice.  The  per- 
son addressed,  a  crooked  old  woman,  did  not  raise  her 
head,  but  slowly  toiled  up  the  hill  under  her  load. 


172  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

u There!  I  told  you  so.  Madam  Gamby  has  owned 
that  woman  ever  since  she  was  married,  and  she  's  'most 
as  old  as  Aunt  Phebe,  pa  says.  I  think  she  might  give 
her  her  bread  and  bacon  the  rest  of  her  life." 

"  I  too,  Maud ;  and  then  there 's  poor  old  blind  Uncle 
Ben,  that  she  keeps  grindin'  corn  at  a  hand-mill  all  day." 

**•  I  thought  you  sent  your  corn  down  the  creek  to  be 
ground,"  said  Fanny. 

u  So  we  do,  all  but  Madam  Gamby,  and  she  don't  believe 
in  havin*  any  thing  done  off  the  place,  specially  as  Uncle 
Ben  is  blind  arid  can't  do  any  thing  else." 

"  Well !  here  we  are  at  last,"  said  Nanny.  u  I  declare 
I  have  n't  a  breath  left." 

They  had  reached  the  top  of  a  s.teep  hill,  and  clambering 
over  a  stile  placed  across  a  stump-fence,  in  a  ruinous  con- 
dition, the  house  stood  directly  before  them.  It  was  a 
log  building,  one  story  high,  with  a  wide  door  and  two 
windows  in  front.  These  last  had  no  glass,  but  were  pro- 
tected by  wooden  sh utters,  wrhich  could  be  opened  or  closed 
at  pleasure.  The  ground  before  the  house — there  was  no 
fence — was  smooth  and  hard — but  though  there  were 
plenty  of  pigs  about,  no  children  were  to  be  seen — a  cir- 
cumstance that  Fanny  could  not  but  remark,  accustomed 
as  she  was,  on  Mr.  Catlett's  place,  to  see  the  two  in  equal 
numbers,  playing  harmoniously  together  at  all  hours  of 
the  day. 

Madam  Gamby  was  waiting  at  the  door  of  the  house  to 
receive  her  guests,  bidding  them  welcome  in  a  voice  that 
could  be  heard  half  across  the  yard.  The  room  into  which 
they  were  ushered,  extended  the  length  of  the  house,  but 
was  separated  into  two  parts,  by  a  curtain  of  dingy  cloth 
hanging  from  the  center  rafter.  This  was  drawn,  and  the 
further  part  of  the  room  presented  a  busy  scene.  A  wo- 
man was  weaving  at  the  hand-loom  in  one  corner,  assisted 


INTRODUCTION    TO     A     RANZAS    SETTLER.     175 

by  an  active  little  fellow,  eight  or  ten  years  old,  and  five 
or  six  girls  were  spinning  with  silent  industry.  Round  a 
huge  pile  of  wool  in  the  middle,  was  seated  a  group  of 
children,  picking  and  packing  as  fast  as  their  little  fingers 
could  fly.  The  place  was  in  as  perfect  order  as  an  apart- 
ment could  be,  which  contained  nearly  all  its  mistress's 
household  possessions,  from  her  best  gown  and  petticoat, 
down  to  a  skillet  and  a  dishcloth.  Through  the  back- 
door, which  was  wide  open,  could  be  seen  the  cook,  busy 
over  the  kitchen  fire,  and  the  noise  of  Uncle  Ben's  hand- 
mill  reached  their  ears.  Not  an  idler  was  to  be  seen.  It 
seemed  strange  to  see  the  woman  who  was  setting  the 
table — an  operation  generally  occupying  from  half  to 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  at  Mrs.  Catlett's — proceeding 
steadily  with  her  business,  going  to  and  from  the  kitchen, 
without  once  stopping  to  chat  with  the  cook,  or  hang  five 
minutes  at  a  time  over  the  well-curb,  as  was  Martha's  invari- 
able custom — to  hear  the  constant  whirring  of  the  spinning- 
wheels,  and  the  regular  strokes  of  the  weavers'  lay.  Over 
all  these  operations  Mrs.  Gamby  presided  with  lynx-eyed 
vigilance,  her  sharp  voice  and  quick  energetic  tread,  being 
heard  in  all  parts  of  the  establishment  in  a  moment's  time. 

"  Hard  at  it,  Madam  Gamby,  as  usual,"  said  Nanny,  as 
the  lady,  having  placed  seats  for  her  guests,  and  called 
Boss  to  take  their  things,  sat  down  again  to  her  work. 

"Yes,  yes,  Miss  Nanny.  We  don't  have  no  lazy  min- 
utes here.  A  minute's  a  minute,  I  tell  'em,  and  there  's 
nothin'  like  keepin'  'em  at  it.  Lina,  here  's  this  seam  to 
stitch.  Come,  don't  be  foolin'." 

A  sprightly  yellow  girl,  with  large  eyes  and  soft  wav) 
hair,  seated  on  a  low  stool  at  her  mistress's  feet,  was  steal- 
ing a  curious  glance  at  the  strangers  from  under  her  long 
lashes,  but  started  when  Madam  Gamby  spoke,  and 
quickly  resumed  her  work. 


174  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  Are  you  cutting  out  the  servants'  clothes  so  early, 
Madam  Gamby  ?"  said  Nanny ;  "  why  ma  won't  begin 
this  month  yet.  'Pears  like  we  hadn't  but  just  got  their 
winter  suits  made  up." 

"  Fore-handed  !  Miss  Nanny,  fore-handed !"  said  Madam 
Gamby,  plying  her  shears,  which  snapped  off  the  cloth 
very  much  as  their  owner  did  her  words.  "  I  never  waj 
one  of  your  after-dinner  folks.  This  kind  of  work  has  got 
to  be  all  done  up  before  plantin'  time.  You  Tom,"  to  a 
little  urchin  on  the  wool-pile,  "  mind  yourself.  I  '11  be  in 
there  directly."  % 

Just  then  the  old  woman,  whom  they  had  seen  coming 
up  the  hill,  appeared  at  the  door.  She  was  a  full-blooded 
African  in  form  and  feature,  bowed  and  wrinkled  by  old 
age  and  hard  work. 

"Here,  yon!"  said  Mrs.  Gamby;  "who  told  you  to 
leave  your  spinnin'  ?" 

"Please,  Miss  Betty,  I  wants  a  holiday,"  said  the  old 
creature.  "  Reaumatiz  mighty  bad  now-a-days.  I  's 
right  sick,  Miss  Betty,  I  is." 

"  Go  back  to  your  work,"  said  her  mistress.  "  You  '11 
have  that  stint  done  by  night,  too,  mind  yer.  I  '11  be 
down  there  in  the  course  of  the  day." 

The  old  woman  still  lingered. 

"  Go,"  said  her  mistress,  decidedly. 

"  You  see  she  's  foolish,"  said  Madam  Gamby,  as  the 
old  creature  hobbled  slowly  away;  "you've  got  to  be 
right  up  and  down  with  such.  I  reckon  she  see  there 
was  company,  and  thought  't  would  be  a  good  time  to  try 
one  of  her  tantrums." 

"  Do  you  get  much  out  of  such  a  broken  down  old 
creature  ?"  said  Nanny. 

"Well,  now,  there's  more  wear  in  such  than  you'd 
think  for  to  look  at  'em,"  said  Madam  Gamby.  "The 


INTRODUCTION    TO    A    K  AN  Z  A  S    S  ETT  I.  E  R.    175 

*<d  thing  grunts  and  grumbles  a  heap,  but  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  she  held  out  to  work  a  couple  of  years  yet. 
She 's  mighty  tough,  you  see." 

"  She  ain't  a  bit  fit  to  work,"  said  Maud. 

"  Hush,  Maud,"  said  Nanny. 

"  What  does  the  child  say  ?"  said  Madam  Gamby. 

"  I  say  she  ain't  fit,"  said  Maud,  with  a  crimson  face. 
a  She  's  old,  and  crooked,  and  most  blind,  and  you  had  n't 
ought  to  make  her  work — so  there !" 

"  Maud  Catlett,"  said  her  sister,  "  ain't  you  ashamed  of 
yourself?" 

"  No,  I  ain't,"  said  Maud. 

"Lor',  Biny,"  said  Madam  Gamby,  "get  the  little  girl 
your  old  rag  baby  to  play  with.  We  must  give  her  some- 
thing to  amuse  herself  with." 

Maud  darted  a  look  of  rage  and  indignation  at  the 
speaker,  and  rushed  out  of  the  house. 

"  O,  let  her  go,"  said  Nanny  to  Boss  and  Biny,  who  had 
followed  her  to  the  door.  "  I  'm  sure  she 's  as  well 
out  there,  if  she  has  n't  any  better  manners  than 
that." 

"  Never  mind  the  child,"  said  Mrs.  Gamby,  "  I  see 
Suke  's  a  bringin'  in  dinner,  and  you  must  n't  eat  without 
tasting  my  cherry  bounce.  They  do  say  it 's  prime.  Miss 
Hunter,  if  you  '11  hitch  your  chair  along,  I  '11  haul  up  a 

jug." 

Fanny  did  as  she  was  requested,  and  raising  one  of  the 
boards  that  composed  the  floor,  Madam  Gamby  stretched 
her  long  arm  down  the  cavity,  and  brought  up  a  large 
stone  jug,  containing  this  favorite  western  beverage.  A 
portion  of  it  was  poured  into  a  tumbler,  from  which  all 
took  a  sip,  somewhat  after  the  manner  of  the  morning 
dram  at  Mrs.  Catlett's.  "  Now,  then,"  said  Madam 
Gamby,  as  they  gathered  round  the  table,  "  eat !"  an  ID 


176  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

junction  they  all  followed,  for  their  long  tramp  had  made 
them  very  hungry.  Fanny  thought  of  poor  Maud,  bon- 
netless  and  dinnerless,  and  would  fain  have  followed  and 
hunted  her  up,  but  she  knew  not  where  to  find  her. 

Afler  dinner,  it  being  too  late  to  return  to  the  meet- 
ing, they  made  the  tour  of  the  premises,  Madam  Gamby 
really  sparing  time  to  act  the  part  of  guide.  She  took 
them  to  the  smoke-house,  the  stable,  and  the  sheep-pen, 
descanting  at  length  on  her  method  Qf  managing  these 
several  departments.  They  listened  to  an  accurate  state- 
ment of  the  amount  of  hog's  flesh  she  had  salted  and  pre- 
pared for  smoking,  with  her  own  hands.  "  There  's  only 
a  few  things,"  she  said,  "  that  I  don't  let  my  niggers  do, 
and  one  is  to  pickle  the  bacon.  They  have  enough  to  do, 
tho',  about  hog-killin'  time,  that  you'  d  better  believe. 
Last  January  we  killed  forty  head  in  one  day,  and  I  tell 
you  I  kept  every  man,  woman,  and  child  down  here,  at 
the  hog-pen,  three  days  hand  runnin'.  Them  girls  did  n't 
keep  out  of  it,  neither.  My  daughters  are  goin'  to  be 
brought  up  for  farmer's  wives.  None  of  your  lily  fingers 
for  me,"  with  a  glance  at  Fanny's  hands.  "  They  was 
right  here,  in  the  midst  of  it." 

"  We  had  the  pig  tails  to  roast,  any  how,  Miss  Fanny," 
said  Biny.  "  Did  you  ever  eat  a  pig  tail  roasted  in  the 
ashes  ?  It 's  mighty  sweet." 

"  No,"  said  Fanny,  laughing.  "  The  children  ah  came 
into  school  one  day,  brandishing  their  pig  tails,  but  they 
did  n't  look  very  inviting  to  me,  I  must  confess." 

"Lor',  Miss  Hunter,"  said  Madam  Gamby,  "you 
mustn't  be  so  delicate.  You  won't  catch  any  of  our 
young  farmers  if  you  are  too  nice  to  eat  pig  tails." 

"  When  I  am  in  a  strait  for  a  husband,  I  '11  try  to  learn, 
Mrs.  Gamby,"  said  Fanny,  demurely.  ••  k  r 

From  the  smoke-house,  and  hog-pen,  they  visited  the 


INTRODUCTION    TO    A    KANZAS    SETTLER.     177 

hennery,  and  their  attention  was  directed  to  the  rich  store 
of  corn  in  the  loft  above. 

"  You  are  such  a  good  manager,"  said  Nanny,  with  a 
sigh ;  and  Madam  Gamby  confessed  that  she  did  under- 
stand a  thing  or  two  about  carrying  on  a  place. 

"  Come  here  in  plantin'  time,  Miss  Nanny,"  she  said, 
t(  if  you  want  to  see  things  fly.  I  don't  keep  no  lazy  bones 
about  me  then.  If  you  must  have  a  tribe  around,  make 
'em  do  enough  to  pay  for  their  bread  and  hominy,  that 's 
my  way.  Some  folks  say  that  niggers  can't  be  smart, 
that  they  are  naturally  slow.  I  don't  believe  it.  I  've 
tried  'em  these  twelve  years,  and  I  don't  reckon  you  get 
anymore  out  of  your  white  servants  there  in  Connecticut, 
than  I  do  out  of  my  niggers.  It  depends  altogether  on 
how  you  manage  'em  whether  you  make  'em  profitable  or 
not." 

It  was  a  favorite  topic  with  Madam  Gamby,  and  while 
she  entertained  them  for  an  hour,  with  her  method  of 
managing  the  hands,  Fanny  watched  the  women  as  they 
pursued  their  daily  tasks. 

Their  work  was  done  quicker,  and  more  thoroughly 
than  that  performed  by  Mrs.  Catlett's  house  servants,  but 
there  was  a  dull,  hopeless  expression  on  their  faces,  that 
told  of  overwork,  and  little  recreation.  Fanny  did  not 
sympathize  with  Nanny's  admiration  of  their  hostess's  man- 
agement, and  anxious  about  Maud,  and  weary  with  ex- 
ertion, she  was  glad  when  the  day  drew  to  a  close,  and 
Nanny  declared  that  "  they  must  go  that  instant,  for  big 
William  would  certainly  be  waiting  for  them  at  the  crees." 

"  Where  can  Maud  be  ?"  she  said,  anxiously,  as  they 
descended  the  hill.  "I  have  been  so  worried  about  her." 

"  I  was  mortified  to  death,"  said  Nanny.  "  I  'm  sure 
I  don't  care  what  became  of  the  child.  Madam  Gamby 
will  owe  her  a  grudge  as  long  as  she  lives." 


IVS  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  Ma  can't  blame  us,"  said  Cal.  "  Nobody  can  Slop 
Maud  when  she  gets  in  one  of  her  tantrums." 

u  There  she  is  now,"  exclaimed  Fanny.  "  O  Maud,  I 
am  so  glad !  Where  have  you  been  ?" 

The  child  bounded  toward  them,  her  dress  pinned  over 
her  head  instead  of  a  bonnet,  and  her  cheeks  glowing  with 
exercise. 

"  Lor,  Miss  1  anny,  you  need  n't  have  felt  worried,"  she 
said,  as  she  allowed  her  teacher  to  pin  her  shawl  which 
she  had  brought  upon  her  arm  down  the  hill,  "  I  've  had 
a  grand  run,  and  I  ain't  cold  a  bit." 

"  You  lost  your  dinner,  though,  miss,"  said  N  anny. 
"  Just  right  for  you,  too,  talkin'  so  saucy  to  your  betters." 

"  No,  I  did  n't  lose  my  dinner,  Miss  Nanny,"  said  Maud. 
"  Lina  gave  me  some  of  her  hominy  in  the  kitchen,  but 
didn't  I  have  to  scrabble  under  the  bed,  when  oldMadani 
Gamby  was  comin'." 

"  I  wish  she  had  caught  you,"  said  Nanny,  "  and  given 
you  a  real  smackin'." 

"  Miss  Fanny,  do  you  think  they  should  make  that  poor 
old  woman  work  so  hard  ?"  said  Maud,  appealing  to  her 
teacher. 

"  No,  Maud,"  said  Fanny,  "  I  think  not,  but  it  was  not 
right  for  you  to  tell  Madam  Gamby  so,  especially  in  the 
way  you  did." 

u  I  could  n't  help  it.  I  was  jest  as  mad  as  I  could  be. 
I  went  right  down  to  old  Fatty's  cabin,  and  told  her  to 
run  away." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  her,"  said  Nanny,  laughing,  "  she 's 
too  foolish  to  know  her  way  off  the  place." 

"  Well,  Miss  Fanny,  she  is  real  hard  on  her  servants,'1 
said  Cal.  "  You  see  how  ashy  they  all  look.  It 's  'cause 
she  half  starves  'em,  and  makes  'em  work  so  hard." 

"  And  O  J  Miss  Fanny,  she  did  jest  the  funniest  thing 


INTRODUCTION    TO    A    KANZAS    SETTLER.     179 

once,"  said  'Ilia.  "You  see  there  was  company  comin', 
and  she  wanted  the  little  niggers  to  look  fat  and  greasy, 
and  so  she  made  'em  rub  their  faces  with  old  bacon  rinds, 
and  one  of  'em,  black  Tom,  I  reckon  it  was,  told  of  it 
afterward.  I  was  fit  to  kill  myself  laughing  when  I  heard 
of  it." 

"  I  don't  think  it 's  any  thing  to  laugh  at,"  said  Maud. 
"  I  think  it 's  real  mean  to  treat  'em  so." 

"Well,  you  may  all  talk,"  said  Nanny,  " but  I  tell  you 
what,  Madam  Gamby  's  a  real  manager,  and  she  's  laym* 
up  money  hand  over  fist.  Those  girls  of  hers  will  be  bet- 
ter off  than  any  of  you  one  of  these  days." 

"I'd  rather  be  poor  all  my  days,  Nan,"  said  Maud, 
w  than  get  money  out  of  such  old  women  as  Aunt  Fatty, 
Had  n't  you,  Miss  Fanny  ?" 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

DAVE     TAKES     POSSESSION. 

THE  time  had  now  arrived  when,  if  Mr.  Catlett  would 
secure  his  claim,  he  must  send  Dave  and  a  gang  to  take 
possession  of  the  cabin,  vacated  by  the  widow  and  family 
of  the  dispossessed  Yankee,  and  settle  on  the  premises. 
The  boy  was  full  of  young  blood,  and  eagerly  embraced 
the  opportunity  of  setting  up  for  himself  in  the  world,  but 
Mr.  Catlett  seemed  to  have  lost  much  of  his  enthusiasm, 
proceeding  in  the  necessary  arrangements  with  a  reluc- 
tance that  was  observed  and  remarked  upon  by  the 
family. 

"  What 's  come  over  you,  Mr.  Catlett  ?"  his  wife  said 
one  day,  when  he  had  replied  with  more  than  usual  im- 
patience to  Dave's  eager  inquiries.  u  It  seems  like  you  was 
all  out  of  the  notion  of  the  thing.  I  'rn  sure  awhile  back 
you  was  fierce  enou.gh  about  it.  I  shall  begin  to  think 
that  you  are  as  chicken-hearted  as  .neighbor  Turner,  who, 
they  say,  made  a  kind  of  confession  in  Mount  Zion  meet- 
in'.  What  did  you  do  over  there  in  Kanzas  the  other 
day,  anyhow,  squire  ?" 

"It's  none  of  your  business  what  I  did.  You,  women, 
are  always  for  knowin'  too  much,"  was  the  reply  in  any 
thing  but  a  gracious  tone. 

Col.  Joe  Turner  and  Madam  Gamby  had  already  estab- 
lished settlements  within  a  few  miles  of  the  claim,  and 


DAVE    TAKES    POSSESSION.  181 

here  Dave  would  find  neighbors.  Young  Turner  could 
hunt  and  fish,  and  ride  about  with  him,  and  they  would 
have  great  times  together.  Dave  was  very  sanguine  and 
self-confident.  "  Give  me  my  dogs,  and  Uncle  Tim,"  he 
said,  "  and  you  may  keep  every  other  blasted  nigger  on 
the  place.  They  'd  only  be  in  the  way,  anyhow,  and  Tim 
and  I  are  prime  to  manage." 

"  Tim,  indeed  !"  said  his  mother,  "  and  how  do  you 
reckon  we  can  get  along  without  him  here  ?  You  must 
think  you  are  of  great  consequence,  Master  Dave,  to  take 
off  the  very  best  hand  on  the  place.  He  knows  more  than 
half  the  white  men  on  the  prairie,  and  we  can't  give  him  up 
nohow,  so  you  may  just  make  up  your  mind  to  take  Jerry, 
or  little  Charles,  and  leave  Uncle  Tim  where  he  belongs." 

"  I  sha'n't,  though,  please  you,  Mrs.  Catlett.  I  reckon  I 
know  what  I  'm  about,  and  if  I  can't  take  the  nigger  I 
want,  I'll  stay  at  home,  that 's  all." 

"It's  jest  as  I  told  you.  They  are  a  quarreling  and 
snapping  over  it  a'ready,"  said  Madam  Hester.  "  This 
move  won't  bring  no  good  to  nobody." 

"  Pa,  did  n't  you  say  Uncle  Tim  was  to  go  ?"  said  Dave, 
as  Catlett  appeared  in  the  doorway. 

"  Yes,  and  I've  just  been  over  to  see  that  old  skinflint, 
Madam  Gamby,  about  takin'  the  feller's  wife  along.  Un- 
cle Tim  took  on  so  about  leavin'  her  behind,  I  thought 
I  'd  fix  up  that  all  straight." 

"  Now  did  you  ever  see  such  a  man  ?  As  though  it 
made  any  odds  whether  his  wife  was  along  or  not.  1 
would  n't  humor  my  niggers  so  much,  if  I  was  you,  Mr. 
Catlett.  What  did  the  old  woman  say  ?" 

"  O,  she  was  on  hand,  'cause  it  happened  to  fall  in  with 
her  plans.  If  it  hadn't,  there  would  have  been  another 
tune  played.  However,  it 's  all  fixed,  and  Uncle  Tim  wil] 
nigh  about  jump  out  of  his  skin  for  joy,  I  suppose." 


182  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

Tim  Lad  married  about  a  year  before,  one  of  Madam 
Gamby's  house-servants,  a  smart,  good-looking  mulatto- 
girl,  a  dozen  years  younger  than  himself,  whom  he  was  as 
proud  of  introducing  on  Sundays  and  holidays  as  his 
"  woman,"  as  any  young  husband  of  a  fairer  race,  is  to 
display  the  beauty  of  his  blushing  brrde.  There  never 
was  a  kinder  or  better  husband.  Many  a  long  evening 
did  he  spend  in  putting  together,  after  his  blundering 
fashion,  some  convenience  for  Lina's  cabin;  a  chair  for 
herself,  perhaps,  or  a  cradle  for  the  baby,  to  be  carried 
home  Saturday  night  as  a  surprise  ;  and  when  the  evening 
brought  them  together,  the  baby  dressed  in  its  gayest 
frock,  and  Tim  following  with  a  proud,  happy  look,  Li- 
na's  movements  as  she  bustled  about  to  get  her  "  ole 
man's  supper,"  they  presented  as  pretty  a  picture  of  do- 
mestic happiness  as  one  might  wish  to  see. 

"There,  ma,  what  did  I  tell  you?"  said  Dave  triumph- 
antly. "  I  'm  glad  there's  somebody  to  fix  things  beside 
you  on  the  place.  I  dare  say  you  'd  put  me  off  with  old 
lame  Uncle  Jerry,  and  mebbe  Aunt  Phebe  to  match,  if 
you  had  the  fixin'  off  to  do." 

"  You  can  talk  as  you  please,  David,  my  son,  but  you  'II 
never  find  a  better  friend  than  your  despised  mother.  It 's 
a  great  trial  to  have  such  ungrateful  children.  Viny,  hand 
me  my  pipe  and  a  shovel  of  coals." 

"  It  runs  in  the  blood,"  said  Madam  Hester.  "  No 
good,  no  good!"  and  she  shook  her  palsied  head,  and 
raised  a  skinny  finger  quite  significantly. 

Finally,  after  a  great  deal  of  talking,  it  was  settled  that 
Tim  and  Jerry,  Aunt  Adeline  and  Jinny,  should  be  handed 
over  to  Dave ;  and  if,  by  and  by,  he  required  more,  more 
should  be  given  him.  All  the  arrangements  were  made 
tong  before  the  eventful  morning,  and  great  was  the  hurly- 
burly  when  the  cavalcade  moved  from  the  door.  It  COD 


DAVE     TAKES    POSSESSION.  185 

sisted  of  the  squire,  Dave  and  the  servants,  Othor,  Uno, 
and  Ino,  a  wagon-load  of  domestic  utensils,  with  a  stock 
of  meal  for  hoe-cakes,  and  bacon  for  more  substantial  food 

Madam  Gamby,  who  was  going  over  to  visit  her  place 
and  see  how  things  came  on,  rode  up  the  lane  just  as  they 
were  starting;  and  Uncle  Tim's  heart  beat  quicker,  and 
his  broad  face  broke  into  a  smile,  when  looking  back,  he 
espied  the  white  horse,  and  the  pretty  face  of  his  young 
wife,  peeping  out  from  behind  the  old  lady's  ample  form. 
Madam  Gamby  always  "  rode  double,"  if  there  were  two 
to  go.  "  There  was  no  sort  of  use  in  sparing  another 
horse,"  she  said,  and  therefore,  though  a  ride  of  thirty 
miles  might  not  prove  the  most  comfortable  thing  in  the 
world,  in  the  crowded  position  both  parties  occupied,  thus, 
and  thus  only,  was  it  to  be  taken. 

"  There  they  go,"  said  Nanny,  as  the  whole  party  started 
down  the  lane,  on  a  slow  trot.  "  If  Dave  only  had  a  wife 
now,  he  would  be  fixed  off  nicely.  It 's  a  pity  little  Rosa 
Turner  wasn't  out  of  school,  ain't  it  ma?" 

"  Rosa  Turner,  indeed  !"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.  "  I  promise 
you,  Nan,  our  Dave  looks  higher  than  that." 

"Why,  how  you  talk,  ma  !  The  Turners  are  right  re- 
spectable. Mrs.  Turner  is  always  telling  about  their  aris- 
tocratic blood." 

"  O,  yes !  I  know  they  come  of  a  good  family ;  but  when 
a  young  man  is  looking  out  for  a  wife,  Nanny,  family  is  n't 
every  thing.  Between  you  and  I,  the  Turners  are  pretty 
well  run  out,  and  have  to  sell  a  nigger  or  two  every  year 
to  keep  up  the  place.  When  the  old  colonel  dies,  those 
girls  won't  be  wortlua  sixpence." 

"  Dave  likes  her,  ma.  He  always  waits  on  her  at  all  the 
dining  days  and  night  parties." 

"  He  's  young,  Nanny,  yet ;  but  he 's  coming  to  his  sensea 
for  all  that,  as  you'll  see  one  of  these  days." 


184  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

It  would  be  hardly  worth  our  while  to  trace  the  steps 
of  our  party,  as  they  proceeded  to  David's  new  home.  It 
was  a  gloomy  day  in  November,  and  as,  aflei  a  tedious 
ride  of  several  hours,  they  descended  the  slope,  at  the 
foot  of  which  stood  the  cabin,  the  wind  moaned  dismally 
through  the  naked  branches  of  the  trees,  and  rattled  the 
door  and  windows  of  the  deserted  house. 

"Take  hold  here,  Uncle  Tim,  and  help  shove  this 
plaguy  door  open,"  said  Dave.  "  I  should  think  there 
were  seven  devils  holding  it  to,  on  the  other  side,  by  the 
way  it  sticks." 

Tim's  strength  quickly  overcame  the  resistance,  what- 
ever it  was,  and  the  door  flying  open  with  a  crash,  pre- 
cipitated that  worthy  individual  across  the  sill,  and  per- 
mitted the  exit  of  a  large  bat,  which  dashed  its  wings  in 
Mr.  Catlett's  face. 

"  Lors-a-massy  !"  said  Uncle  Tim,  raising  himself  on  his 
hands,  and  knees,  and  gazing  after  the  creature  of  ill 
omen.  "  Lors-a-massy,  Mass'  Jack,  but  dat's  a  mighty 
bad  sign,  any  how." 

"  Get  up,  you  fool,  and  don't  lie  staring  there  as  if  you 
had  seen  a  ghost,"  returned  Mr.  Catlett,  "  and  be  off  all 
of  you,  and  pick  up  some  light  wood,  and  we  '11  have  a 
fire.  Pah !  the  place  smells  like  a  cellar." 

The  room  into  which  they  entered  did  not,  in  fact, 
present  a  very  cheerful  appearance.  There  uere  a  few 
dead  embers  upon  the  hearth,  and  a  tea-kettle,  and  one 
or  two  other  articles  of  household  use,  as  though  the  for- 
mer residents  had  left  the  premises  in  haste.  Cobwebs 
hung  thick  upon  the  walls,  and  the  floor  was  covered  with 
dust  and  rubbish,  but  through  it  all  Mr.  Catlett  discerned 
a  few  dark  stains,  the  meaning  of  which  he  well  under 
stood,  and  from  which  he  turned  away  his  eyes  with  some- 


DAVE    TAKES     POSSESSION.  185 

Jjing  like  a  shudder,  but  quickly  sought  again  as  though 
irresistibly  attracted  by  the  dismal  tokens. 

"  As  snug  as  any  thing  can  be,"  said  Madam  Gamby, 
taking  a  survey  of  the  premises.  u  I  wish  some  Yankee 
had  left  the  like  on  my  land.  Our  folks  have  to  live  in  a 
deal  poorer  place  than  this.  Howsomever  they  are  used 
to  it.  Well,  it 's  time  I  was  off.  Good  luck  to  you, 
Dave.  I  shall  look  for  you  to-morrow,  over  to  my  dig- 
gins.  Set  your  niggers  at  work  first,  though,  fellin'  some^ 
of  that  fine  timber,  yonder.  It 's  prime  for  buildin',  and 
you  must  begin  as  you  can  hold  out,  my  boy.  Work 
'em  well,  or  it  won't  pay.  That 's  my  advice." 

"  Hang  the  woman,"  said  Dave.  "  Who  cares  for  her  ad- 
vice ?  I  reckon  I  can  manage  without  any  help  from  her." 

Mr.  Catlett  spent  several  days  with  his  son,  directing 
Uncle  Tim  and  Jerry  how  to  build  their  cabin,  initiating 
the  boy  into  his  new  business,  reconnoitering  the  country, 
trying  the  game,  and  setting  the  wheels  of  house-keeping 
in  motion.  Nothing  occurred  worthy  of  notice  during 
this  time,  excepting  the  death  of  Othor,  killed  by  a  shot 
from  an  unknown  hand — a  dog  Dave  declared  that  he 
would  n't  have  taken  fifty  dollars  for — and  a  bullet-hole 
made  in  the  squire's  new  hat,  in  an  equally  mysterious 
way. 

At  length,  Colonel  Turner  coming  over  to  visit  his 
claim,  it  was  decided  that  Mr.  Catlett  should  return  to 
the  prairie  with  him,  leaving  Dave  and  his  household  to 
shift  for  themselves. 

The  evening  before  his  departure,  he  was  accosted  by 
Jinny,  one  of  the  female  servants. 

"  Mass'  Jack,"  she  said  timidly,  "  please  can't  I  go  back 
to  de  prairie  wid  you,  to-morrow?" 

"Go  back  to  the  prairie,  Jinny?  What  for?  You 
ain't  getting  home-sick,  be  you  ?" 


186  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

"  Why  no,  not  'zackly,  but — well,  yon  see,  Mass'  Jack, 
it's  kinder  curis  here,  any  how.  'Pears  like,  IM  rather 
be  in  <ie  old  place." 

"  What 's  curis  ?     What  do  you  mean,  girl  ?" 

"Lors,  mebbe  't  aint  nothin',  Mass'  Jack,  only  Adeline 
and  me,  we  get  talkin',  and  we  say  it  must  be  sperits. 
Dar  ain't  no  flesh  and  blood  round  here  to  be  cuttin'  up 
such  shines,  and — and — " 

"What  shines?  Hang  it,  girl,  if  you  don't  tell  me 
what  you  mean,  I  '11  teach  you  how.  Come,  out  with  it." 

"  Why,  lors,  Mass'  Jack  knows.  Dat  ar  hole  through 
Mass'  Jack's  hat,  now,  can  massa  tell  how  it  come  dar? 
and  de  shot  dat  killed  Othor  ? — was  any  body  round  to 
shoot  de  bullet  ? — and  de  buck-shot  dat  come  whizzin'  in 
at  de  open  door  toder  day,  and  hit  de  kettle  on  de  fire. 
O  Mass'  Jack,  it's  sperits,  and  no  mistake,  and  me  and 
Adeline,  we  tinks  it  ain't  no  good  sperits,  neither.  It's  a 
dreadful  lonesome  place,  Mass'  Jack." 

"  Shut  up  your  head,  Jinny,  and  don't  let  me  hear  an- 
other word  of  your  nonsense.  No,  I  sha'n't  take  you 
back  to  the  prairie  with  me,  spirits  or  no  spirits.  So 
there  you  are." 

The  next  day  Mr.  Catlett  and  Colonel  Turner  returned 
to  their  respective  homes,  and  reported  progress. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

CHRISTMAS. 

THE  business  which  had  brought  Mr.  Chester  to  La 
Belle  Prairie,  detained  him  longer  than  he  had  anticipated. 
Three  weeks  passed  away,  ere  it  was  completed,  and  then 
the  Christmas  holidays  were  so  near  at  hand,  that  the 
family  would  not  hear  of  his  going. 

"The  town  gentleman"  had  established  himself  as  a 
universal  favorite  among  the  household.  Even  Dave, 
thawed  out  of  his  sulky  ill  nature  by  the  other's  jovial 
frankness  and  good-humor,  had  declared  before  he  left  for 
Kanzas  that  he  wasn't  "  a  bad  fellow  after  all,  though  he 
did  wear  a  gold  chain  to  his  watch,  and  cover  his  hands 
with  kid  gloves."  The  house  servants  soon  learned  to  call 
him  "  Mass'  Henry,"  and  to  watch  to  bring  him  his  coat 
and  hat,  or  for  a  nod  or  a  pleasant  word  from  him  as  he 
crossed  the  yard,  while  Miss  Nanny  declared  "  there 
was  n't  such  another  polite,  pretty-behaved  gentleman  in 
all  St.  Louis."  She  was  particularly  anxious  that  he 
should  remain  over  Christmas. 

"  There  '11  be  sure  to  be  two  or  three  night  parties  on 
the  prairie,  Miss  Fanny,  and  it  will  be  so  nice  to  come 
walkin'  in  with  the  town  gentleman,  and  all  the  other 
girls  lookin'  at  us.  O  !  I  hope  he  '11  stay." 

The  visitor  appeared  quite  ready  to  remain.  The  wild 
life  he  was  leading  on  the  prairie,  pleased  him  well,  and 


J88  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

he  entered  with  great  zest  into  all  the  plans  for  hunting 
parties  and  other  amusements. 

Though  a  resident  for  the  last  few  years,  of  the  city, 
Harry  Chester  was  not  unaccustomed  to  country  life  at 
the  west,  and  he  fell  at  once  into  the  ways  of  the  family, 
experiencing  none  of  the  shock  at  the  sudden  change  from 
his  city  home,  which  had  so  tried  the  courage  of  our  New 
England  girl.  Indeed,  the  same  low  room  that  had  filled 
Fanny  with  such  horror,  had  a  peculiar  charm  for  him,  and 
returning  at  night  from  his  long  rides  over  the  prairie,  he 
watched  for  the  first  glimmer  of  light  from  its  uncurtained 
windows,  and  welcomed  it  with  real  pleasure. 

He  thought  of  the  blazing  fire  on  the  wide  hearth, 
lighting  up  the  faces  of  the  children,  and  making  them 
look  ruddy  in  its  cheerful  glow,  of  the  well-spread  table, 
where  the  corn-bread  and  coffee  tasted  better  than  any- 
where else,  of  the  boisterous  welcome  that  awaited  him, 
and  of  a  young  girl,  in  a  dark  merino  drevss,  and  black  silk 
apron,  who  was  sitting  quietly  knitting  by  the  fire. 

The  evening  was  the  pleasantest  part  of  the  day,  arid 
after  the  table  was  cleared,  the  cups  washed,  and  the 
younger  children  safely  stowed  away  in  the  trundle  for  the 
night,  a  comparative  state  of  quiet  prevailed.  It  was  then, 
while  Mrs.  Catlett  and  Nanny,  with  a  candle  upon  a  chair, 
between  them,  worked  away  upon  the  servants'  clothes; 
and  Fanny,  with  Yankee  industry,  plied  her  knitting- 
needles,  that  Mr.  Chester  entertained  them  with  the  news 
from  the  St.  Louis  paper,  or  read  a  few  pages  from  some 
favorite  book,  brought  forth  from  the  recesses  of  his  port- 
manteau. There  were  long  talks,  too,  which  made  the 
evening  pass  so  swiftly  that  Mrs.  Catlett  declared,  "  she 
had  to  hint,  and  hint,  before  ever  she  could  get  them  off 
to  bed."  There  were  walks  now  and  then  on  a  pleasant 
Saturday  afternoon,  through  the  leafless  woods,  or  across 


C  II  K  1  S  T  M  A  S.  189 

the  prairie,  when  the  children  running  on  before,  left  Misa 
Nanny  and  the  teacher  to  entertain  the  stranger.  There 
were  many  gallops  across  the  prairie,  and  more  quiet  rides 
to  church  on  Sunday,  so  that  the  young  people  were  much 
together. 

Christmas  week  there  was  no  school,  but  such  a  suc- 
cession of  dining  days,  and  visiting  days,  and  day  parties, 
and  night  parties,  that  Fanny,  who  looked  forward  to  the 
week  as  a  season  of  rest,  thought  that  the  regular  routine 
of  school  duties  would  be  less  fatiguing. 

Christmas  at  La  Belle  Prairie  was  the  one  jubilee  of  the 
year,  something  to  be  talked  about  for  six  months  before- 
hand, and  to  be  remembered  as  long  after.  It  was  a  time 
of  feasting  and  recreation  for  both  master  and  servant. 
Days  before,  preparations  commenced  in  the  kitchen. 
Various  smells  issued  from  thence— savory  smells  of 
boiled,  baked,  and  roasted  meats ;  and  sweet,  delicious 
smells  of  warm  pastry,  and  steaming  cakes.  Aunt  Tibby 
was  rolling  pie-crust,  or  stirring  cake  all  day  long,  and  the 
chopping  of  sausage-meat,  the  pounding  of  spices,  and 
the  beating  of  eggs,  was  constantly  heard.  Every  thing 
was  carried  on  with  the  greatest  secrecy.  The  children 
were  all  kept  out  of  the  kitchen,  and  when  "  somfin'  good" 
was  to  be  transferred  therefrom  to  Miss  Car'line's  store- 
room, Aunt  Tibby  came  sailing  in,  holding  it  high  above 
the  reach  of  the  curious  little  heads. 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Cal.  "  There 's  six  pound-cakes  all 
in  a  row  on  the  store-room  shelf.  I  see  'em  when  ma 
opened  the  door ;  and  Marthy  says  one  of  'em  's  got  cur 
rants  in  it,  and  there  's  a  little  shoat  thar  roasted  whole. 
O!  how  I  wish  Christmas  was  come." 

Coming  suddenly  upon  Maud  one  day,  Fanny  found 
her  with  her  apron  half-full  of  bran,  while  her  fingers  were 
busily  at  work  upon  a  few  pieces  of  faded  silk.  Maud 


190  WESTERN     BOBDEK     LIFE. 

tried  to  hide  them  at  first,  but  finding  by  Fanny's  ques- 
tion of  "  What  is  it,  Maud  ?"  that  it  was  too  late,  she 
looked  up  with  a  tired,  flushed  face,  and  said, 

u  Miss  Fanny,  don't  you  tell  now !  will  you  ?  I  'm 
makin'  a  pin-cushion  for  Aunt  Pliebe,  but  it  won't  come 
square,  all  I  can  do.  It  acts  awfully." 

"  Let  me  see  what  the  trouble  is,"  said  Fanny,  and  sit- 
ting down,  she  examined  the  poor  cushion  ;  which,  indeed, 
under  Maud's  hands,  was  not  soon  likely  to  come  into 
shape. 

"  You  see,"  said  Maud,  "  I  want  to  give  aunty  a  Christ- 
mas gift,  and  I  thought  a  cushion  would  be  so  nice,  'cause 
her  old  one  that  she  wears  pinned  to  her  waist,  you  know, 
has  burst  a  great  hole,  and  the  bran  keeps  tumbling  out. 
I  'm  going  to  make  her  a  right  nice  one,  only  I  wish 
't  was  brighter,  'cause  aunty  likes  red,  and  yellow,  and  all 
them,  so  bad." 

Fanny  searched  her  piece-bag,  and  brought  forth  bits 
of  gay  ribbon,  the  sight  of  which  threw  Maud  into  ecsta- 
sies of  delight,  then  giving  up  the  morning  to  the  job,  she 
cut  and  planned,  and  fitted  and  basted  together,  getting 
all  in  order,  so  that  Maud  could  do  the  sewing  herself. 

"  Aunty  would  n't  think  half  so  much  of  it  if  I  did  n't," 
said  the  child. 

Well  and  faithfully  Maud  performed  her  labor  of  love, 
giving  up  her  much-prized  runs  on  the  prairie,  and  resist- 
ing all  the  children's  entreaties  to  play  with  them,  till  the 
Christmas  gift  was  finished.  It  was  no  small  task,  for 
Maud  most  heartily  hated  to  sew,  and  her  fingers  were 
any  thing  but  nimble  in  the  operation.  "  I  always  did 
despise  to  sew,  Miss  Fanny,"  she  said,  "but  I  'm  going  to 
make  this  cushion  for  aunty  anyhow." 

It  was  finished  at  last,  and,  as  Maud  expressed  it,  "  was 
just  as  beautiful  as  it  could  be."  There  never  was  a 


CHRISTMAS.  1 » t 

prouder,  happier  child.  She  did  not  thank  Fanny  in 
words  for  her  assistance,  but  that  night  she  came  softly 
behind  her,  and  putting  her  arms  about  her  neck,  gave 
her  an  earnest  kiss,  a  proceeding  which  called  forth  an 
exclamation  of  surprise  from  Mrs.  Catlett,  for  Maud  was 
very  chary  of  her  caresses. 

Christmas  morning  came,  and,  long  before  daylight, 
every  child  upon  the  place,  both  black  and  white,  was  up 
ready  to  u  march  in  Christmas."  There  had  been  mys- 
terious preparations  the  night  before,  such  as  the  hiding 
of  tin  pans  and  glass  bottles  under  the  bed,  and  the  faint 
tooting  of  an  old  horn,  heard  down  at  the  quarters,  aa 
though  some  one  was  rehearsing  a  part.  Fanny  was  also 
astonished  by  an  application  from  little  "  darky  Tom"  for 
permission  to  use  her  school-bell,  the  said  cow  tinkler  riot 
being  remarkable  for  sweetness  of  sound. 

"  O,  yes,  Tom,  you  may  take  it ;  but  what  can  you  want 
of  it?" 

"  Could  n't  tell  no  ways,  Miss  Fanny,"  said  Tom,  with 
a  grin.  "  Mebbe  Miss  Fanny  know  in  de  mornin'." 

Morning  did  indeed  bring  an  explanation  of  the  mystery. 
Assembling  in  the  yard,  the  children  marshaled  themselves 
into  marching  order  ;  Maud,  of  course,  being  captain,  and 
taking  the  lead,  bearing  an  old  tin  horn,  while  little  black 
Tom  brought  up  the  rear  with  Fanny's  unfortunate  cow- 
bell. 

In  this  order  they  commenced  "  marching  in  Christmas'* 
to  the  music  of  the  horn,  the  beating  of  tin  pans,  the  rat- 
tling of  bits  of  iron  and  pieces  of  wood,  the  jingling  of 
bells,  and  the  clapping  of  hands.  Into  the  house,  and  up 
stairs  to  the  very  doors  of  the  sleeping-rooms,  they  all 
marched  wi:h  their  horrid  din.  It  was  received  with  tol- 
erable good  humor  by  all  but  Nanny,  whc,  deprived  of 
ber  morning  nap  by  the  tumult,  raved  at  the  juvenile  dui 


192  WESTERN     B  O  R  D  E  R     LIFE. 

turbers  of  the  peace,  and  finally  threw  her  shoes  at  them 
as  they  stood  on  the  stairway.  These  were  directly  seized 
upon  as  trophies,  and  carried  off  in  triumph  to  the  quar- 
ters, where  the  young  performers  went  through  with  the 
same  operations. 

u  Christmas  gift !  Christmas  gift !"  was  the  first  saluta- 
tion from  the  servants  this  morning,  and  it  was  well  worth 
while  to  give  them  some  trifling  present,  were  it  only  to 
hs-ar  iheir  extravagant  expressions  of  gratitude  and  de- 
light. It  was  impossible  to  forget  for  a  moment  that  it 
was  Christmas.  One  could  see  it  in  the  faces  of  the  serv- 
ants, released  for  a  whole  week  from  their  daily  tasks,  and 
rejoicing  in  the  prospect  of  dances,  and  parties,  and  visits 
to  friends  and  kindred  on  distant  plantations.  The  chil. 
dren,  too,  with  their  boisterous  merriment  and  constant 
talk  about  the  holidays,  seemed  determined  to  bear  it  in 
mind,  and  the  great  dinner — the  one  dinner  of  the  y~yax — 
in  the  preparation  of  which  Aunt  Tibby  had  exercised  all 
her  skill;  this,  in  itself,  seemed  to  proclaim  that  it  was 
Christmas. 

"O,  Miss  Fanny,"  said  little  Joy,  "don't  you  wish 
Christmas  lasted  the  whole  year  round  ?" 

The  short  December  day  was  fast  drawing  to  a  close, 
as  a  party  of  four  rode  leisurely  along  the  road  crossing 
La  Belle  Prairie.  The  ladies,  though  scarcely  recognize 
ble  in  their  close  hoods,  long  blue  cotton  riding  skirts, 
and  thick  gloves,  were  none  other  than  Miss  Nanny  Cat- 
lett  and  our  friend  Fanny,  while  their  attendants  wera 
Mr.  Chester,  the  town  gentleman,  and  Massa  Dave  Catlett, 
who  had  come  over  from  his  new  home  in  Kanzas,  on  pur- 
pose  to  enjoy  the  Christmas  festivities  on  the  prairie. 
One  of  those  night-parties,  of  which  Nanny  had  talked  so 
much,  was  to  come  off  at  Col.  Turner's,  and  this  was  the 
place  of  their  destination.  In  accordance  with  the  -ms- 


CHRISTMAS.  19* 

of  society  in  these  parts,  they  were  to  remain  until 
the  next  day,  and,  accordingly,  black  Viny  rode  a  little 
in  the  rear,  mounted  upon  old  "  Poke  Neck,"  and  bearing 
sundry  carpet-bags  and  valises,  containing  the  ladies'  party- 
dresses. 

As  they  rode  slowly  along,  chatting  gayly  and  enjoy- 
ing the  still  bright  day,  a  young  man,  mounted  upon  a 
beautiful  gray  horse  dashed  by  them  on  the  full  gallop, 
slightly  touching  his  hat  as  he  passed. 

"  There  goes  Tom  Walton,"  said  Nanny.  "  How  saucy 
in  him  to  gallop  by  in  that  style.  He  thinks  because  he 
.^  rich,  that  he  can  do  any  thing." 

"  Is  n't  that  the  young  fellow  that  spends  so  much  of  his 
time  at  the  store  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Chester.  "  He  looka 
very  like  one  I  see  there  every  time  I  stop  for  letters." 

"That's  him,"  said  Dave.  "It's  Tom  Walton,  the 
richest  young  fellow  anywhere  about.  He  's  only  twenty- 
two  or  three,  and  owns  one  of  the  tallest  farms  in  Mis- 
souri, and  twenty  good  hands  to  work  it.  I  tell  you  he  's 
one  of  the  lucky  ones." 

"  Such  possessions  bring  plenty  of  care  and  responsibil- 
ity with  them,"  said  Mr.  Chester. 

"  To  some,  rnebbe,  not  to  him.  He  takes  it  easy.  He 
keeps  an  overseer,  and  does  nothing  all  day  but  hunt  or 
lounge  in  the  store.  He  has  n't  half  the  care  that  I 
have." 

"  Nor  half  the  enjoyment,  Dave,  if  I  read  his  face  right, 
lie  has  a  very  restless,  discontented  look,  to  me." 

4i  Well,  he  's  been  a  pretty  hard  boy,  you  see,  for  all 
he  's  so  young.  One  while,  before  the  old  man  died,  he 
was  so  bad  it  seemed  like  he'd  drink  himself  to  death. 
He  's  steadied  down  now,  though,  and  does  pretty  well." 

Just  at  dusk  oui  party  reached  their  journey's  end,  and 
dismounting  one  by  one  from  the  horse-block  in  front  of 

9 


194  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

the  house,  they  walked  up  the  yard,  and  were  met  in  the 
porch  by  Miss  Belle  Turner,  Nanny's  particular  friend. 
This  young  lady,  with  long  curls,  and  a  very  slender 
waist,  performed  the  duties  of  hostess  in  a  free  and  easy 
manner,  ushering  the  gentlemen  into  the  parlor,  where  a 
fire  was  blazing  on  the  hearth,  while  the  ladies,  with  their 
attendant,  were  conducted  up  stairs  to  the  dressing- 
room. 

Here  a  dozen  or  more  were  engaged  in  the  mysteries 
of  the  toilet,  braiding,  twisting,  and  curling,  while  as  many 
servants  were  flying  about,  stumbling  over  each  other, 
and  creating  the  most  dire  confusion  in  their  efforts  to 
supply  the  wants  of  their  respective  mistresses.  The  beds 
and  chairs  were  covered  with  dresses,  capes,  ribbons, 
curling-irons,  flowers,  combs,  and  brushes,  and  all  the 
paraphernalia  of  the  toilet,  while  the  ladies  themselves 
kept  up  a  continual  stream  of  conversation,  with  each 
other  and  their  attendants. 

Into  this  scene  Nanny  entered  with  great  spirit.  Shak- 
ing hands  all  round,  and  introducing  Fanny,  she  hastily 
threw  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  bidding  Viny  unpack 
the  things,  she  set.  about  dressing  in  good  earnest.1 

u  How  nice  to  get  here  so  early,"  she  said.  u  Now  wo 
can  have  a  chance  at  the  glass,  and  plenty  of  room  to 
move  about  in." 

Fanny  wondered  what  she  called  plenty  of  room,  but 
had  yet  to  learn  the  signification  of  the  term  when  applied 
to  the  dressing-room  of  a  western  party.  Thicker  and 
faster  came  the  arrivals,  and  it  being  necessary  that  each 
lady  should  undergo  a  thorough  transformation  in  dress, 
before  making  her  appearance  down  stairs,  the  labor  and 
confusion  necessary  to  bring  this  about  can  be  imagined. 
Such  hurryings  to  and  fro,  such  knockings  down  and 
pickings  up,  such  scolding  and  laughing,  in  short,  such  a 


CHRISTMAS.  195 

Babel  of  sounds  as  filled  the  room  for  an  hour  or  two, 
Fanny  had  never  heard  before.  Completing  her  own 
toilet  as  soon  as  possible,  she  seated  herself  upon  one  of 
the  beds,  and  watched  the  proceedings  with  great  interest. 

"You  Suke,  bring  me  some  more  pins,  directly'9  4/  O 
please,  Miss  Ellen,  mind  my  wreath  !"  "  Jule,  how  much 
longer  are  you  goin'  to  keep  the  wash-bowl."  "  Dar 
now,  Miss  Eveline,  done  get  her  coat  all  wet."  "  Did 
you  know  Tom  Walton  was  here  ?  I  see  him  in  the  pas- 
sage." "  Miss  Belle,  that 's  my  starch-bag."  "  There, 
now  !  don't  them  slippers  fit  beautiful."  "  Why  don't 
that  girl  come  back."  "  O,  'Liza,  just  fasten  up  my  dress, 
that 's  a  dear  girl !"  "  Come,  girls,  do  hurry,  we  sha'n't 
be  dressed  to-night." 

How  it  was  all  brought  about,  Fanny  could  not  tell, 
but  at  last  the  ladies  were  dressed,  the  last  sash  pinned, 
and  the  last  curl  adjusted.  Dresses  of  thin  material,  cut. 
low  in  the  neck,  with  short  sleeves,  seemed  to  be  the  order 
of  the  night,  which  with  wreaths,  and  bunches  of  artificial 
flowers  in  the  hair,  gave  the  ladies  a  ball-like  appearance. 
With  Miss  Belle  at  the  head,  they  all  descended  to  the 
parlor,  and  found  the  gentlemen  strolling  about,  employing 
themselves  as  they  could,  till  the  night's  amusement  com- 
menced ;  and,  indeed,  both  ladies  and  gentlemen  mani- 
fested such  eagerness  to  adjourn  to  the  dancing-room,  that 
the  signal  was  soon  given,  and  they  proceeded  forthwith 
to  a  log  building  in  the  yard,  formerly  used  as  a  school- 
room. 

"  Will  you  walk  with  me  ?"  said  a  young  man,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  standing  near  Fanny  in  the  passage. 

Fanny  looked  about  for  an  acquaintance,  but  there  was 
none  in  sight,  and  perceiving  that  all  were  on  the  move, 
she  accepted  the  stranger's  proffered  arm. 

44  You  may  not  know  me,"  said  the  young  man.     "  My 


196  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

name  is  Walton — Tom  Walton.     It  ain't  best  to  be  set 
about  introductions  here  in  the  country." 
".No,"  said  Fanny,  smiling. 

"And  now,  as  I  know  you,  and  you  me,  would  it  be 
out  of  the  way  to  ask  you  to  be  my  partner  in  the  first 
cotillion  ?» 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Fanny,  "  I  don't  dance." 
"  Don't  dance !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Walton,  in  extreme  sur- 
prise.    "  What  upon  earth  will  you  do  with  yourself  all 
night,  at  a  Christmas  party,  without  dancing  ?" 

"  Look  on  and  see  the  rest,"  said  Fanny,  "  and  study 
human  nature." 

"  It  will  be  mighty  tiresome  business,  I  reckon,"  said  the 
young  man.  "  Well,  here  we  are." 

As  he  spoke  they  entered  the  dancing-saloon,  and  a 
rude  one  it  was,  lighted  by  a  great  fire  in  the  chimney, 
and  by  tallow  candles  stuck  between  the  logs.  Benches 
were  placed  here  and  there  about  the  room,  and  leading 
Fanny  to  a  seat,  Mr.  Tom  Walton  placed  himself  beside  her, 
with  the  evident  intention  of  pursuing  the  acquaintance. 

Belle  Turner  had  taken  good  care  to  secure  the  services 
of  the  town  gentleman  as  an  escort,  and  Nanny  was  made 
happy  by  the  attentions  of  young  Mr.  Turner,  who  was 
generally  looked  upon  as  her  beau ;  while  Dave  stalked 
about  with  a  modest,  blushing,  little  girl,  hanging  upon 
his  arm,  his  perfect  opposite  in  appearance  and  manners. 

Dancing  soon  commenced,  and  was  carried  on  with  great 
\igor,  the  young  people  making  up  in  activity,  what  was 
lacking  in  gracefulness  of  motion.  Set  after  set  was  made 
out,  the  ladies  vieing  with  each  other  to  see  who  should 
dance  the  most,  while  those  who  were  left,  chatted  gayly 
together  in  groups,  or  tried  their  powers  of  fascination 
upon  some  long-limbed  specimen  of  humanity. 

"  Nanny,"  whispered  Belle  Turner,  as  she  stood  near 


CHRISTMAS.  197 

that  young  lady  in  the  dance,  "  do  you  see  Mr.  Tom 
Walton  talking  away  to  your  new  teacher  ?  Who  intro- 
duced him,  I  wonder  ?" 

"Dave,  I  reckon,"  said  Nanny.  "Tom  Walton  was 
mightily  taken  with  her  the  first  time  he  saw  her.  He 
told  Dave  to-night  she  was  the  prettiest-looking  girl  on  the 
ground." 

"  Of  all  things,"  said  Belle,  with  a  toss  of  her  curls,  "  I 
think  she  looks  right  old  maidish,  with  that  high-necked 
gown  on,  and  she  has  n't  so  much  as  a  rose  in  her  hair." 

Miss  Belle's  own  head  was  ornamented  with  a  staring 
wreath  of  flowers,  and  she  was  shivering  in  her  thin  dress; 
the  present  cold  made  endurable  only  by  the  prospect  of 
future  warmth. 

Fanny  was  growing  very  weary  of  Mr.  Tom  Walton'a 
society,  when  he  suddenly  started  up,  exclaiming,  that 
"  Miss  Belle  would  never  forgive  him,  if  he  did  n't  dance 
at  her  party.  If  Miss  Hunter  would  keep  her  seat,  he 
would  see  her  again  in  the  course  of  half  an  hour." 

"  How  very  kind,"  thought  Fanny ;  but  Mr.  Chester 
just  then  appearing,  and  taking  the  vacant  seat,  she  was 
soon  engaged  in  a  pleasant  talk  with  him. 

"  What  calls  the  gentlemen  up  stairs  so  frequently  ?" 
inquired  Fanny,  innocently,  as  groups  of  two  and  three 
disappeared  up  the  steps  leading  to  the  room  above. 

"  You  are  not  aware,  then,  what  a  formidable  rival  the 
ladies  have  up  in  the  loft?"  said  Mr.  Chester,  gravely, 
though  there  was  a  comical  expression  about  the  corneis 
of  his  mouth. 

"No,  indeed." 

"Well,  I  only  hope  you  may  not  witness  the  overpowering 
influence  sometimes  exerted  by  this  same  rival,"  said  Mr. 
Chester  ;  "  but,  honestly,  Miss  Hunter,  there  is  serious  dan- 
ger that  some  of  these  light-footed  young  gentlemen  may, 


198  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

ere  long,  be  obliged  to  relinquish  their  places  in  the  dance, 
all  through  the  attractions  presented  to  them  up  yonder." 

"  I  don't  in  the  least  know  what  you  mean." 

"  In  plain  words,  then,  there  is  a  barrel  of  whisky  up 
there,  and  various  bottles  and  glasses,  from  which  the  gen- 
tlemen slake  their  thirst." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Mr.  Chester  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  am.  It  would  not  answer,  I  suppose,  for 
ladies  to  intrude  upon  their  modest  retirement,  or  1  could 
convince  you  in  a  moment." 

"  How  can  you  joke  about  it,  Mr.  Chester  ?  I  think  it 
is  perfectly  scandalous." 

"  Well,  it  is  bad  enough,"  said  her  companion,  more 
gravely.  "  One  living  at  the  west  becomes  accustomed 
to  such  things." 

"JT  never  will,"  said  Fanny.  "  If  I  had  known  these 
Christmas  parties  countenanced  intemperance,  I  would 
have  stayed  at  home." 

"  And  yet  we  hear  a  great  deal  about  your  wine-drink- 
ing parties  there  in  New  England,"  said  Mr.  Chester. 
"  Is  it  so  much  worse  for  the  gentlemen  to  do  their  drink- 
ing out  of  sight,  than  to  pour  down  glass  after  glass  un- 
blushingly  in  the  presence  of  ladies  V" 

"I  know,"  said  Fanry,  "there  are  such  things  even 
now  in  Connecticut  as  wine-drinking  parties,  and  I  blush 
to  own  it ;  but  public  opinion  is  fast  frowning  them  down, 
and  our  glorious  Maine  law  is  putting  a  stop  to  every 
thing  of  the  sort." 

'f  Are  all  the  New  England  ladies  so  strongly  opposed 
to  this  evil  practice?  If  their  united  influence  were 
brought  to  bear  against  intemperance,  would  it  not  almost 
supersede  the  necessity  of  a  Maine  law  ?  I  have  heard 
of  such  a  thing  as  ladies  preferring  the  society  of  a  gentle- 
man, whose  conversation  was  enlivened  by  a  glass  or  two 


CHRISTMAS. 

of  something  stimulating.  Very  few  are  as  frank  in  ac- 
knowledging it,  as  one  young  girl  here  to-night,  who  I 
heard  remarking  to  a  lady  friend,  that  'Mr.  Mack  had 
taken  just  enough  to  make  him  witty  and  smart.'  It  is 
true,  Miss  Hunter,  though  you  look  so  incredulous." 

"It  is  very  humiliating,"  said  Fanny,  "but  I  can  not 
let  any  insinuations  against  the  New  England  ladies,  go 
undisputed.  I  do  know,  and  will  stoutly  maintain,  that 
the  ladies  there  almost  with  one  voice,  have  chosen  the 
right  side,  and  have  given  all  their  influence  to  bring 
about  the  desired  end." 

"  One  could  not  well  doubt  it,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  if 
you  are  to  be  taken  as  a  sample.  But  see,  the  dancing  has 
ceased,  and  the  crowd  appear  to  be  moving,  shall  we  fol- 
low them  ?" 

"  A  set  supper,"  Nanny  had  several  times  expressed  a 
hope  that  Mrs.  Turner  would  provide,  and  she  was  not 
disappointed.  The  long  table  was  bountifully  spread  with 
the  substaritials  of  this  life,  and  though  not  in  the  style 
of  an  entertainment  in  Fifth  Avenue,  it  was  admirably 
suited  to  the  guests,  who  partook  of  it.  A  roasted  "  shoat" 
graced  each  end  of  the  board,  a  side  of  bacon  the  center, 
while  salted  beef,  cut  in  thin  slices,  with  pickles  and 
cheese,  constituted  the  side-dishes.  Hot  coffee,  corn 
bread,  and  biscuit,  were  passed  to  each  guest,  and  a  piece 
of  pound-cake,  and  a  little  preserved  fruit,  for  dessert. 

There  was  plenty  of  laughter,  and  coarse  joking  at  the 
table,  and  the  flushed  faces,  and  increased  volubility  of  the 
gentlemen,  gave  too  certain  evidence  of  the  truth  of  Mr. 
Chester's  assertions.  Mr.  Tom  Walton  stood  between 
Miss  Belle  and  another  young  lady,  who  appeared  greatly 
amused  at  his  sallies  of  wit,  and  his  swaggering,  8fl£ 
sufficient  air.  Fanny  was  mortified  and  distressed  at 
the  Fcene  before  her,  and  mentally  determined  that  this 


200  WESTERN     BOEDER     LIFE. 

should  be  her  last  party  while  she  remained  at  La  BelL 
Prairie. 

Perhaps  Mr.  Chester  divined  her  thoughts,  for  he  soor 
proposed  leaving  the  table,  and  she  gratefully  accepted 
Dancing  recommenced  immediately  after  supper,  and  wai 
kept  up  till  a  late  hour  of  the  night,  few  exhibiting  an) 
symptoms  of  fatigue.  Fanny  felt  grateful  to  Mr.  Chestei 
for  remaining  by  her  side  the  rest  of  the  evening ;  dread 
ing  to  be  left  alone  a  moment,  lest  she  should  be  exposed 
to  the  rude  attentions  of  some  of  the  young  gentlemen 
present.  Tom  Walton,  she  knew,  was  only  prevented 
from  joining  her  by  the  presence  of  her  companion  ;  and 
by  this  time  she  had  conceived  for  him  the  most  thorough 
contempt.  An  hour  or  so  after  supper,  this  young  gentle- 
man, with  two  or  three  boon  companions,  wras  slaking  his 
thirst  in  the  loft  above. 

"I  tell  you,  boys,"  says  one,  "wasn't  them  great  times 
over  to  the  election,  hey  ?  The  twenty-ninth  now  was  a 
great  day  and  no  mistake.  Did  n't  we  make  the  Yankees 
stand  round  ?  They  say  there  was  n't  a  dozen  free  State 
votes  cast  in  the  Territory,  and  I  believe  it,  if  they  all 
made  as  clean  work  as  we." 

"The  squire  did  the  matter  up  brown,"  said  Tom, 
"  when  we  put  him  in,  scaring  oif  the  rascally  abolition 
chairman.  He  's  got  pluck." 

"  But  the  greatest  sight  to  be  seen,  was  old  Marm 
Gamby,  in  men's  clothes,  puttin'  in  a  vote  for  every  one 
of  her  scrawny  niggers,  men,  wromen,  and  children.  I 
thought  I  should  die  a  laughin'.  She  swore  she  'd  do  it 
beforehand,  but  I  did  n't  believe  the  crittur  had  brass 
enough.  By  jing!  she  gave  twenty  votes  if  she  gave 
one." 

"  Yes,  and  she  swigged  down  the  whisky  with  the  best 
of  'em,  and  rode  round  on  that  old  white  horse,  cursiii* 


CHRISTMAS.  201 

and  swearin'  at  the  abolitioners.    I  never  saw  such   a 
specimen." 

u  Tom,  they  say  Dave  Catlett  is  shinin'  up  to  one  of  them 
great  Dutch  gals  of  hers.  Is  that  so  ?  Thunder,  if  it  is, 
Dave 's  a  greater  fool  than  I  thought  him.  Why,  she 's  a 
regular  chip  off  the  old  block.  Dave  will  be  black  and 
blue  before  they've  been  tied  a  month.  What  do  you 
say,  Tom  ?" 

"  I  say  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it,  anyhow.  The 
girl  has  got  a  pretty  piece  of  property  to  back  her,  and  as 
for  the  grit,  Dave  's  got  enough  of  that  himself.  Did  you 
see  him  order  off  that  spunky  abolition  boy  and  his  mother. 
Blast  me !  if  I  did  n't  think  the  boy  was  going  to  fight, 
but  his  mother  whispered  to  him,  and  he  gave  in." 

"  What  right  had  he  there,  anyhow,  tryin'  to  vote  ? 
He 's  nothin'  but  a  boy." 

"  No  more  Marm  Gamby  ain't  a  man,  Turner,  and  you 
see  she  come  it  nicely." 

"  He  said  he  wanted  to  vote  for  his  dead  father,  who 
had  been  a  resident  six  months,  when  somebody  mur- 
dered him." 

"  Yes,  and  did  you  see  the  squire  about  that  time.  He 
turned  as  pale  as  a  cloth,  and  stuttered  and  stammered 
like  he  didn't  know  what  he  was  about.  If  Dave  hadn't 
spunked  up  so,  I  believe  the  old  man  would  have  let  him 
vote,  and  owned  up  to  killin'  the  man,  too." 

"  I  reckon  Catlett  thinks  he  bought  that  claim  rather 
high." 

"Hush,  boys,"  said  Tom,  "I  was  in  that  fray.  The 
fellow  brought  it  all  on  himself.  He  just  got  his  deserts 
for  a  blasted,  obstinate,  impudent  Yankee.  That 's  so. 
And  you  'd  better  behave,  and  not  talk  that  way  about 
gpntlemen  before  their  friends,  or  there  '11  be  a  muss." 
c  O,  Tom,  don't  get  riled,  now.  We  did  n't  mean  the 

9* 


202  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

first  thing.  Of  course  it  was  all  right.  We  always  sap- 
posed  so.  'T  was  a  fine  job.  He !  he !  he !  Holloa 
Dave,  gettin'  dry,  are  you  ?  Well,  you'  ve  come  home  to 
Christmas  ?  How  do  you  like  it  over  there  ?" 

"  First  rate !  high  times  huntin'  and  goin'  it.  Turner 
and  I  are  right  jolly.  Plenty  of  fun,  and  more  flyin'  buk 
lets  than  you  can  shake  a  stick  at.  George !  they  come 
whizzin'  in  at  the  windows  every  day,  and  they  don't  seem 
to  come  from  nowhere,  neither.  Aunt  Adeline — that's 
rny  woman — says  it 's  the  old  boy  himself,  and  I  reckon 
she  ain't  far  out  of  the  way." 

"Ain't  you  lonesome?" 

"  Pooh,  no !  not  u  bit  of  it.  Would  n't  come  back  to 
the  prairie  for  nothin'.  It 's  all  so  wild  and  independent 
like.  Tom,  you  would  n't  find  it  any  object  to  be  prinkin* 
over  there  all  day." 

"  The  reason  you  don't  prink,  is  'cause  you  can't  look 
anyhow  if  you  do,"  said  Tom. 

"  O,  shut  up,  Tom,  and  what 's  your  hurry.  Come  sit 
down  and  let  me  tell  you  how  I  shot  a  deer  the  other 
day.  It  was  just  the  neatest  piece  of  work.  You  see — " 

"  Hang  your  stones,  Dave.  I  can't  stop  now.  There  's 
lots  of  pretty  girls  down  stairs  waitin'  to  dance  with  me. 
It 's  really  too  bad  to  keep  them  in  such  suspense." 

"  Well,  be  off,  then,  and  look  out  sharp,  Tom,  or  the 
town  feller  will  cut  you  out  with  Catlett's  pretty  lit- 
tle school-marm.  He  's  been  shinin'  up  to  her  all  the 
evening." 

"  The  langest  day  maun  hae  an  end,"  says  the  old  Scotch 
proverb,  and  it  was  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  Fanny  at  last 
saw  Uncle  Jake  lay  down  the  tortured  fiddle,  and  the 
dancers  with  lingering  steps  and  wishful  eyes  retire  tc 
seek  the  few  hours  of  repose  that  were  left  of  the  night. 
<k  Confusion  worse  confounded"  reigned  for  a  time  in  the 


CHRISTMAS.  203 

apartment  appropriated  to  the  ladies'  use,  and  the  numer- 
ous couches  spread  upon  the  floor  increased  the  difficulty 
of  navigation.  At  last,  when  quiet  seemed  restored,  and 
Fanny  was  sinking  into  a  peaceful  sleep,  she  was  aroused 
by  her  neighbors  in  an  adjoining  bed,  three  young  ladies, 
who  declared  that  they  were  "  all  but  starved,  and  must 
have  something  to  eat  before  they  could  go  to  sleep." 
One  of  the  black  women  was  dispatched  to  the  store-room 
for  some  slices  of  cold  bacon,  and  sitting  up  in  bed,  with 
the  candle  before  them,  they  made  a  hearty  repast. 

"  Of  course  you  can't  eat  half  as  much  as  you  want  at 
table,"  said  one  of  the  young  ladies,  apologetically ;  "  one 
always  wants  to  appear  delicate-like  before  the  gentle- 
men." 

"What  in  goodness'  name,  Nan,  made  breakfast  so 
late,"  said  Dave  the  next  morning,  or  rather  noon,  as 
they  were  returning  home ;  "  I  thought  one  while  we 
was  n't  goin'  to  get  any." 

"Why,  you  see,  they  hadn't  any  wheat  flour  in  the 
house  for  the  biscuit,"  said  Nanny,  "  and  they  had  to  send 
three  miles  over  the  prairie  to  Mr.  John  Turner's,  to  bor- 
row some." 

"  Twenty  people  invited  to  stay  over  night,  and  no  flour 
in  the  house  ?"  said  Fanny,  in  amazement. 

"  It  rather  shocks  your  Yankee  ideas  of  looking  out 
ahead,  Miss  Hunter,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  laughing.  "  We 
are  used  to  such  things  out  this  way." 

"  Lor,  Miss  Fanny,  people  can't  remember  every  thing, 
you  know,"  said  Nanny;  "Belle  says  they  never  thought 
*  word  about  it  till  this  morning." 


CHAPTiA    U. 

"FOB    AUNTY'S    SAKE." 

ONE  day,  while  Aunt  Phebe  was  dozing  in  her  arm- 
chair, and  the  little  black  babies  under  her  charge  had 
taken  the  opportunity  to  crawl  into  the  aslu.s,  her  nap 
was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  entrance  of  Maud.  With- 
out speaking,  the  child  took  her  usual  seat  on  the  low 
stool  close  to  the  old  woman's  chair,  and  fixing  her  eyes 
on  the  floor,  continued  for  a  few  moments  in  moody  si- 
lence. 

"  Now  what  ails  de  child  ?"  said  Aunt  Phebe  at  length, 
who  was  pretty  well  used  to  such  exhibitions  of  ill-humoi, 
though  they  had  been  less  frequent  of  late.  "  Come,  tell 
old  aunty  all  about  it.  Any  bad  lessons  to-day?" 

"  I  hate  lessons,"  said  Maud,  "  and  I  hate  the  old  school. 
I  wish  pa  would  n't  make  us  learn  any  more.  I  do  so." 

"  Lors,  now,  what 's  come  over  de  chil'  ?"  said  Aunt 
Phebe,  in  astonishment.  "  Gettin'  on  so  fast  wid  her  les- 
sons, and  sich  a  pretty  lady  for  teacher,  too." 

"I  don't  car' !"  said  Maud,  sullenly,  "I  wish  she  'd  go 
away." 

"  Pat  ain't  Miss  Maud  speakin'  dat  ar  way,"  said  the 
old  woman,  sorrowfully ;  "  dat  ar  ain't  my  chil',  no  how ; 
'bout  Miss  Fanny,  too,  so  good  an'  gentle.  Here  she 
come  las'  night,  telhn'  ober  what  good  lessons  her  scholars 
gets,  and  dem  soft  eyes  o'  hern,  shining  all  de  while  for 


"FOR    AUNTY'S    SAKE."  205 

joy.  i  Why,  Aunt  Phebe,'  says  she,  *  I  'm  real  proud  of 
'em ;'  bless  her  heart,  she  said  dem  bery  words,  she  did, 
only  las'  night." 

"  I  reckon  she  ain't  very  proud  of  me,"  said  Maud. 

"  You  don'no  'bout  dat,  honey.  Sha'n't  let  on,  no  how, 
but  I  knows  what  she  said,  to  make  ole  aunty's  heart  glad, 
I  does.  What 's  put  it  inter  Miss  Maud's  head  to  shift 
'bout  so  ?" 

"  Well,  aunty,  she 's  so  strict  with  us.  She  won't  let 
us  whisper,  nor  play,  nor  do  the  first  thing  in  school,  and 
this  evening  she  took  away  all  Johnny's  marbles ;  and  I 
would  n't  learn  any  lesson,  and  she  made  me  stay  in  all 
play-time,  and  I  was  real  mad  then;  just  as  mad  as  I  could 
be." 

"  Well,  tain't  no  way  for  my  chil'  to  act ;  gettin'  mad 
at  nothin  an'  losin'  her  lesson.  Do  a  heap  more  harm  to 
her  own  sef,  dan  odder  folks.  What  keeps  her  here  now, 
when  Miss  'Ria,  and  Cal,  an'  all  ob  'em  gone  off  walkin' 
wid  de  teacher  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  would  n't  go,  aunty,"  said  Maud ;  "  they  all 
asked  me  to,  but  I  would  n't." 

"  Why  not,  honey  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  was  mad,  aunty." 

"  Well,  now,  what  de  use  gettin'  mad,  anyhow.  Miss 
Fanny  she  don't  want  yer  foolin'  in  school ;  she  wants  yer 
to  learn  heaps,  'cause  she  says  so;  and  old  aunty,  she 
wants  to  see  her  chil'  head  ob  'em  all.  But  lors !  't  ain't 
no  use  talkin'.  Miss  Maud  knows  book-larnin's  ob 
great  'count  now-a-days ;  'spec'  she  '11  know  heaps,  and 
be  a  real  lady,  one  ob  dese  years,  when  ole  aunty  gone 
up  to  glory." 

"What  makes  you  want  me  to  know  heaps,  aunty?" 
said  Maud,  in  a  softer  tone. 

"  Caus'  I  lubs  my  chil',"  said  the  old  woman,  laying  her 


206  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

withered  hand  upon  Maud's  head.  "  If  ole  Phebe  could 
see  her  chil'  a  growin'  up  good,  and  kind,  and  lubly,  she  'd 
be  all  ready  to  go  right  up.  Dat  ar  's  what  lays  on  her 
heart  times." 

"Aunty,"  said  Maud,  looking  up  lovingly  into  the  old 
woman's  face,  "I  will  learn  my  lessons  to  please  you^  and 
I  will  try  to  be  good,  but  oh,  it 's  so  hard,  times.  Ain't  it 
mighty  Lard  work  to  be  good,  aunty  ?" 

"'Deed  'tis,"  said  Aunt  Phebe.  "  Dar  ain't  nothin'  so 
hard  in  dis  yer  world.  Satan  allers  standin'  round,  put- 
tin'  snags  in  de  way.  You  got  to  fight  him  chiFen,  light 
him  mighty  hard,  too.  Miss  Fanny  she  say  las'  night 
dar  's  nothin'  like  prayin'.  I  b'lieves  it  too." 

"  Miss  Fanny  prays  every  morning  in  school,  aunty, 
and  last  Sunday  evening,  you  know,  when  it  was  so  warm, 
we  all  went  down  to  the  creek,  and  sat  on  the  old  bridge, 
and  she  talked  real  pious  to  us,  like  you  do  times,  aunty, 
and  we  sung  hymns,  and  she  told  us  stories  out  of  the 
Bible.  She  tells  pretty  stories,  and  she  plays  writh  us,  and 
shows  us  new  games,  and  never  gets  mad  when  we  don't 
understand,  like  Nanny  does.  Does  prayin'  keep  her  from 
gettin'  mad  ?" 

"I  'spec'  so,  honey.  Dis  prayin"s  a  won'erful  ting. 
But,  lors !  if  I  did  n't  come  nigh  to  forgettin'  dem  ar 
gauba  peas  I  baked  dis  yer  mornin',  a  purpose  for  Miss 
Fanny.  Jest  fetch  'em  out  ob  de  bake-kettle,  honey  an* 
I  '11  take  de  shucks  off." 

"I'll  shuck  'em  for  her,  aunty,"  said  Maud,  eagerly. 
"  Let  me.  Miss  Fanny  likes  gauba  peas,  'caus'  I  heard 
her  say  so  the  other  day,"  and  Maud  was  soon  busily  oc- 
cupied in  preparing  Aunt  Phebe's  gift  for  the  teacher 
whose  absence  she  had  so  lately  wished,  talking  cheerfully- 
all  the  while  about  school  to  Aunt  Phebe,  who  occasion- 
ally put  in  a  question  or  remark. 


"FOR   AUNTY'S   SAKE."  207 

Conversations  of  this  kind  often  passed  between  the  old 
woman  and  the  child,  commencing  in  an  angry  discon- 
tented mood  by  Maud,  but  invariably  ending  in  smiles 
and  good  humor.  Once  put  upon  the  right  track,  no  one 
understood  better  how  to  manage  Maud  than  Aunt 
Phebe ;  and  as  no  one  else  possessed  half  the  influence 
orer  her,  Fanny  found  that  she  had  enlisted  on  her  side 
an  invaluable  assistant.  Maud  could  be  led  much  easier 
than  driven,  and  when  Fanny  failed,  as  with  all  her  skill 
she  sometimes  did,  in  exacting  obedience,  Aunt  Phebe 
would  take  up  the  matter,  and  contrive  to  bring  her  into 
a  state  of  perfect  submission. 

To  Aunt  Phebe's  cabin  Fanny  often  resorted,  to  tell 
over  her  little  joys  and  sorrows,  and  to  listen  to  the  words 
of  cheerful  hope  and  courage,  that  fell  from  the  old  wo- 
man's lips.  She  took  great  comfort  in  her  society,  while 
next  to  Maud,  there  was  no  person  Aunt  Phebe  appeared 
to  love  so  well  as  "Miss  Fanny." 

"Aunty,"  said  Maud,  as  she  was  shucking  the  pea-nut^, 
"  do  you  think  pa  will  be  vexed,  'caus'  Miss  Fanny  teaches 
us  so  much  religion  ?" 

"  'Deed  I  don't,  Miss  Maud.  Mass'  Jack  got  eyes  in 
his  head  well  as  odder  folks.  Can't  help  seein'  de  good 
Miss  Fanny  doin'  us  all.  Who  put  dat  ar  notion  in  de 
chil's  head  ?" 

"  Nanny  said  she  reckoned  he  'd  think  it  took  too  much 
time,"  said  Maud. 

"  Lors,  Miss  Nanny  don't  know.  It  don't  neber  hender 
nobody  to  stop  an'  pray  on  de  road.  Don't  you  b'lieve  dat." 

"  O,  there  they  come,"  said  Maud,  as  she  ran  to  the 
door  to  empty  her  shucks.  "  There  they  come,  Gal,  and 
'Ria,  and  Joy,  and  there 's  Miss  Fanny,  and — why,  aunty, 
she  's  got  Mr.  Chester,  the  town  gentleman,  with  her,  and 
I  declare  they  are  comin'  right  this  way." 


,J08  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

"  Lors,  be  they  ?  Dinah,  fetch  up  de  stools,  and  take 
de  baby  out  ob  de  ashes.  Here,  Jake,  you  can  toat  Polly 
down  to  de  spring  awhile.  l)ar,  now,  we  's  ready,"  said 
Aunt  Phebe,  looking  complacently  round  her  domain. 

"  Howd-y,  Aunt  Phebe  ?"  cried  a  chorus  of  young  voices, 
and  she  was  soon  surrounded  by  a  group  of  children,  all 
talking  at  once,  while  the  elder  portion  of  the  company 
followed  more  leisurely. 

"  Behave,  chil'en,  can't  ye  ?"  said  Aunt  Phebe.  "  Hush 
a  minute.  Don't  s'pose  want  to  speak  to  Miss  Fanny, 
dar,  an'  young  massa?  Lors,  Miss  Fanny's  cheeks  look 
jes  like  my  June  roses  when  de  dew  's  off.  'Pears  like 
libin  on  de  prairie  'grees  wid  her  de  bes'  kind.  Mass' 
Harry  come  in  to  see  ole  Phebe,  too  !  Great  honor  dese 
days.  Hope  you  are  well,  massa  ?" 

"  Very  well,  Aunt  Phebe,"  said  the  young  man,  ad- 
vancing to  shake  hands.  "  I  stopped  a  moment  to  say 
good-by.  I  leave  early  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Dar,  now,  dat  ain't  de  best  news  in  the  world.  What 
goin'  oiF  for  jes'  get  a  little  'quainted?  S'pose  got  tired 
ob  de  country.  Mighty  dull  up  here  for  town  folks,  dey 
say,  any  how ;  but  'pears  like  Mass'  Harry  got  along 
mighty  pleasant  wid  us  all." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  to  go,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I  have 
found  it  any  thing  but  dull  up  here."  He  spoke  in  a  tone, 
the  sincerity  of  which  it  was  impossible  to  doubt. 

"  You  like  it  den  ?  Dat  curis,  now.  Miss  Fanny  she 
like  it,  too.  Come  here  todder  night,  tellin'  how  happy 
she  were,  but,  lors !  Mass'  Harry,  it  don't  take  much  to 
make  Miss  Fanny  pleased.  She  carry  a  little  heaben  ob 
her  own  wid  her,  whareber  she  go.  Dere  now,  Miss 
Fanny,  need  n't  shake  yer  head  'bout  it.  Must  tell  da 
truth,  leastways." 

"  Go  on,  Aunt  Phebe,"   said   Mr.  Chester,   laughing, 


"FOR  AUNTY'S   SAKE."  200 

"  Miss  Fanny's  testimony  can't  be  received  in  the  present 
case.  It  has  no  weight." 

"  Dar  's  odders  'sides  ole  Phebe  tinks  dat  way,"  said 
the  old  woman,  slyly.  "  Mr.  Tom  Walton  mighty  fond  o' 
huntin'  dese  times,  and  dem  Turner  boys  gets  heaps  ob 
holidays." 

44  Come,  children,  we  must  go  directly,"  said  Fanny, 
44  or  we  shall  lose  our  supper.  Mr.  Chester,  you  and  Aunt 
Phebe  can  enjoy  a  conversation  together,  only  I  advise 
you  to  choose  a  more  interesting  subject.  Thank  you, 
dear,"  to  Maud,  who  just  then  was  slipping  her  present 
into  Fanny's  pocket. 

44  Dar,  now,  nebber  did  see  what  a  hurry  Miss  Fanny 
in.  Won't  hardly  get  a  chance  to  say  good-by.  Likely  I 
goin'  to  keep  Mass'  Henry  here  arter  she  's  gone.  Hi !  no 
doin'  dat.  Well !  well !  far-well,  Massa  Henry.  De  good 
Lord  go  wid  ye,  and  gib  yer  good  luck  in  dis  world,  and 
de  world  to  come.  It 's  like  you  '11  nebber  see  ole  Phebe's? 
face  agin  on  dis  sid'  Jordan — but  I  hopes  I  '11  see  yer  up 
yonder.  I  wishes  yer  heaps  o'  good,  massa,  and  oie 
Phebe's  blessin'  won't  dD  you  no  harm  leastways — ." 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

POOR     WHITE     FOLKS 

THE  winter  passed  rapidly  on  the  prairie,  and  Fanny's 
first  vacation  was  approaching.  The  children  were  antici- 
pating a  great  many  delightful  rambles  with  their  teacher, 
whose  company  now  seemed  as  desirable  as  it  had  once 
been  unwished.  Mr.  Catlett,  too,  had  planned  a  ride  to 
Cartersville  some  pleasant  day  with  Miss  Fanny  and  his 
daughter  Nanny,  for  companions ;  and  Mr.  Tom  Walton 
had  been  over  twice  within  a  week,  to  arrange  a  pic-nic 
excursion,  to  take  place  during  the  holidays.  All  these 
plans  were  scattered  to  the  winds,  by  a  letter  which  arrived 
from  St.  Louis  the  day  before  school  closed.  This  import- 
ant missive  was  from  Cousin  Julia  Stanton,  and  contained 
a  cordial  invitation  to  Cousin  Nanny,  and  Miss  Fanny 
Hunter,  to  spend  a  couple  of  weeks  in  the  city.  Nanny 
had  been  talking  all  winter  about  a  visit  to  St.  Louis,  and 
was  only  too  delighted  to  receive  the  summons ;  but  how 
Miss  Fanny  came  to  be  invited,  was  a  question  that  puz- 
zled her  not  a  little. 

"I  didn't  reckon  they  knew  we  had  a  teacher,"  she 
said,  in  talking  the  matter  over  with  her  mother.  "  I  don 't 
see  how  they  found  it  out." 

"  I  do,  then,"  said  'Ria.  "  It  was  that  young  sprig  of  a 
lawyer,  that  was  here  last  winter.  I  always  knew  he  took 
a  notion  to  Miss  Fanny." 


POOR     WHITE    FOLKS.  211 

"  Why,  'Ilia  Catlett,  did  n't  you  know  he  was  engaged 
to  Cousin  Julia?  Take  a  notion  to  Miss  Fanny,  indeed! 
Why  she  's  only  the  teacher." 

"  She  's  a  smart  lady,  anyhow,"  said  'Ria,  "  and  a  pretty 
one,  too.  But  who  told  you  that  young  Chester  is  en- 
gaged to  Cousin  Julia  ?  I  never  heard  it." 

"  Bob  Turner  told  us.  He  's  in  Uncle  Edward's  family 
a  good  deal,  you  know,  when  he  's  in  town,  and  he  says 
Mr.  Chester  is  there  most  every  day,  and  it 's  town  talk 
that  they  are  engaged.  But  about  Miss  Fanny,  I  leckon 
that  was  the  way,  ma,  sure  enough  ;  and  I  '11  be  right  glad 
to  have  her  go  with  me,  too.  I  sha'n't  feel  the  least  bit 
ashamed  of  her.  She  sets  up  in  company  as  pretty  as  any 
body." 

"Ashamed  of  her!"  said  'Ria.  "  Well,  that  »b  a  good 
one  !  She  '11  have  a  heap  more  occasion  to  feel  ashamed 
of  you,  Nanny." 

"'Ria,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  "I  can't  allow  you  to  talk 
that  way  to  your  sister.  Miss  Fanny  is  very  well.  We 
are  all  pleased  with  her,  but  when  you  get  to  making  com- 
parisons between  her  and  Nanny  — " 

"  You  are  right,  ma,"  said  'Ria,  gravely.  "  It  is  a  little 
too  ridiculous  to  be  sure." 

u  Of  course  you  '11  go,"  said  Nanny,  who  announced  the 
news  the  moment  Fanny  came  in  from  school.  "We'll 
have  just  the  nicest  times." 

"  I  should  love  to  go  dearly,"  said  Fanny,  "  but — " 

"  No  buts,  Miss  Fandango,"  said  Mr.  Catlett.  "If  you 
want  tc  go,  that 's  enough.  The  thing  's  settled." 

"  Not  exactly,"  said  Fanny.  "  You  know  I  'm  a 
stranger  to  Judge  Stanton's  family." 

"  Granny  fidd  lest  ring  !  Can't  you  remember  that  you 
are  out  of  Yankee  land,  where  they  count  the  cost  of  every 


212  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

meal  of  victuals !  You  '11  be  welcome  there  as  long  «ia 
you  choose  to  stay." 

"You  didn't  hear  me  out,  Mr.  Catlett,"  said  Fanny ^ 
14  that  is  not  what  I  intended  to  say,  but  allow  me  to  tell 
you,  that  if  ever  you  should  sojourn  in  that  same  Yankee 
land,  you  would  find  they  could  teach  you,  Missourians, 
something  about  hospitality." 

"Now  we've  raised  her  spunk,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  who 
was  always  delighted  if  he  could  draw  Fanny  into  a  de- 
fense of  the  Yankees.  "You?d  teach  us  hospitality,  would 
you  ?  Come,  tell  us  how,  I  want  to  begin  to  learn." 

"  No,  Mr.  Catlett,"  said  Fanny,  pleasantly,  "  I  'm  not 
going  to  say  another  word  on  the  subject.  You  see  I'm 
what  you  call  'touchy,'  in  all  that  pertains  to  my  old 
home,  and  so  I  miast  bite  my  lips  and  be  silent." 

"Besides,"  said  Nanny,  "that  isn't  the  question.  I 
want  to  know  whether  Miss  Fanny  goes  to  town  or  not? 
Don't  you  think  she  ought  to,  ma  ?" 

"  Miss  Fanny  must  do  as  she  pleases  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Catlett ;  "  but  she  need  n't  stop  for  fear  of  not  being  wel- 
come. Your  Aunt  Susan  likes  mighty  well  to  have  young 
people  about  her,  and  I  reckon  you  would  have  fine 
times  together." 

"  Times  !  times  !"  said  Madam  Hester,  catching  the  last 
words.  "  There  ain't  been  sich  since  the  old  gineral  died. 
Dances,  and  parties,  and  weddin's.  And  they  do  say  the 
gal  caught  a  husband  at  one  of  'em."  She  nodded  her 
head  knowingly,  and  sank  back  again. 

"  There,  girls,  you  see  what  Madam  Hester  thinks  about 
it,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.  "  Who  knows  what  may  hap- 
pen." 

"I  wouldn't  go,  Miss  Fanny,"  whispered  Cal ;  "we 
want  you  here  so  bad." 

"  I  would  then,"  said  Maud. 


POOR     WHITE     FOLKS.  213 

"  What  do  you  talk  that  way  for,  Maud  ?  Do  you  want 
to  get  rid  of  Miss  Fanny  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Cal.  I  'd  want  her  here  as  bad  as  any  of 
you  ;  but  I  hope  I  would  n't  be  nTean  enough  to  keep  her, 
when  she  could  go  to  town  and  see  all  the  sights." 

"  You  will  go,"  said  Nanny,  beckoning  Fanny  into  the 
passage. 

u  Yes,  Nanny,  I  will  go." 

"  My  sakes,  now,  how  we  shall  have  to  scratch  round  to 
get  ready.  She  says  we  must  be  sure  to  get  there  the 
first  of  the  week,  and  here  'tis  Thursday  now.  You  can't 
think,  Miss  Fanny,  how  funny  I  feel  about  going.  One 
time  I  want  to  go  so  bad,  and  then  again  I  feel  kinder 
»fraid." 

"  Afraid,  Nanny  ?" 

"Yes.  You  don't  know  what  smart  folks  they  are. 
Uncle  Edward  is  just  the  politest  gentleman  you  ever  see, 
and  Aunt  Susan  so  lady-like  and  soft  spoken,  and  then 
Cousin  Julia ;  I  never  see  any  body  put  on  as  she  can  ; 
and  she  's  so  fixy  we  sha'n't  look  like  any  thing  by  the  side 
of  her." 

"  In  dress,  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  see  there  's  only  her  left.  The  other  girls 
are  all  married  off,  and  she  just  has  every  thing  she  wants. 
I  s'pose  she  '11  step  off  pretty  soon,  and  then  the  old  folks 
will  be  all  alone." 

"  Is  she  engaged  ?" 

"  So  they  say.  Bob  Turner  was  down  last  week,  and 
he  says  't  will  be  a  be." 

"  Who  is  the  happy  man  ?     Do  you  know  ?" 

"  Lors,  yes,  it 's  Mr.  Chester,  that  was  up  here  Christ- 
mas. I  think  it 's  a  grand  match.  He  's  so  handsome  and 
smart,  and  she  '11  have  plenty  of  money.  They  say  Uncle 
Edward  is  mightily  pleased  about  it.  But,  there,  I  must 


214  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

go  this  minute  and  get  ma  to  stop  Patsey  weavln',  and  let 
me  have  her  the  balance  of  the  day.  If  you'll  believe  it, 
Miss  Fanny,  there's  only  one  woman  on  this  place  that 's 
any  thing  of  a  seamstress ;  that 's  Patsey,  and  she  's  the 
weaver  ;  so  it 's  mighty  hard  to  get  anything  done.  But 
I  don't  care  if  ma  does  scold.  I  'm  going  to  have  that 
blue  worsted  frock  of  mine  taken  in,  in  the  body.  It  don't 
fit  half  tight  enough — town  ladies  are  always  so  little  round 
the  waist.  Then  there  's  my  black  silk.  That  fits  beau- 
tiful, if  it  only  had  some  new  trimming ;  and  we  must  be 
sure  and  take  our  lawn  frocks,  'cause  we  shall  be  asked 
out  to  night  parties.  If  I  had  known  certainly  that  we 
was  going,  I  'd  have  sent  down  by  Dave,  when  he  took 
down  the  beeves,  and  got  me  a  new  frock." 

"  O  we  shall  do  very  well,  Nanny.  Of  course  they 
won't  expect  us  country  girls  to  be  in  the  fashion  exactly. 
We  will  try  not  to  disgrace  them,  by  dressing  shabbily, 
and  they  will  make  all  due  allowance  for  deficiencies." 

"  You  always  look  trim  in  a  bit  calico,  Miss  Fanny.  I 
never  see  any  body  keep  their  things  so  nice  as  you  do." 

"  Any  thing  but  nice,  Nanny  ;  but  there  !  if  my  head 
is  n't  too  much  turned  by  the  prospect  of  this  town  visit. 
I  think  I  will  go  into  school.  Come,  scholars,  mine ;  'Ria, 
Cal,  and  Maud,  it 's  past  one  o'clock." 

The  day  before,  Fanny  had  supposed  herself  perfectly 
contented  to  spend  her  vacation  on  the  prairie  ;  but  when 
the  invitation  arrived,  the  prospect  of  a  change  seemed  so 
refreshing,  that  she  wondered  how  she  could  ever  have 
gone  through  the  year  without  it.  "  Our  little  Connec- 
ticut school-marm,"  as  Mr.  Catlett  loved  to  call  her,  was 
not  indifferent  to  dress.  She  was  too  much  of  a  woman 
not  to  possess  the  feminine  trait  of  liking  to  ap]  £ar  well 
in  the  eyes  of  others,  and  she  accordingly  set  about  her 
preparations  for  the  visit,  with  a  great  deal  of  zeal  and 


POOR    WHITE     FOLKS.  215 

pleasure.  The  old  sheet  was  brought  down  from  the  loft, 
and  the  silk  dresses  released  from  their  long  confinement, 
every  wrinkle  smoothed  and  every  fold  adjusted  ;  and 
when  this  was  done,  packed  carefully  in  the  black  trunk, 
with  others  for  more  common  use.  Next  the  traveling- 
hat,  with  its  green  ribbons,  underwent  a  careful  inspec- 
tion, and  with  a  little  pressing  and  the  insertion  of  a  fresh 
lining,  was  made  to  look,  as  the  children  said,  "jest  as 
good  as  new." 

The  doing  up  of  the  collars  and  under-sleeves  belonged 
to  Viny's  department,  and  proud  and  consequential  she 
felt  when  she  brought  them  up  stairs  where  the  young 
Jadies  were  packing  their  trunks. 

"  They  look  beautifully,  Viny,"  said  Fanny ;  "  so  sheer 
and  white.  We  must  give  you  the  prize  for  doing  up 
muslins.  Look,  Nanny." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Nanny,  who  was  very  busy  at  her 
trunk;  "just  put  them  on  the  bed,  Viny,  and  hand  me 
them  shoes,  and  then  go  and  tell  ma  to  send  up  my  black 
spencer,  if  it 's  mended.  Come,  be  off." 

Still  Viny  lingered. 

"  What  is  it,  Viny  ?"  said  Fanny. 

Viny  opened  her  hand  slyly,  and  displayed  a  piece  of 
silver. 

"  Would  dat  ar  buy  one  ob  dem  little  straw  hats,  like 
Patsey's  baby  got,  Miss  Fanny  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Fanny,  "do  you  want  me  to  get  one  for  you." 

"  If  Miss  Fanny  would  now,"  said  Viny,  "  tied  with  a 
little  red  ribbin.  Mighty  fixy,  you  know." 

"  Well,  I  will  get  you  one,"  said  Fanny.  "  Never  mind 
about  the  money.  You  keep  it  safe  till  I  come  back,  and 
then  we  '11  see  about  it." 

"  Mebbe  Miss  Fanny  won't  have  'nuff  to  last,"  said 
Viny,  still  proffering  the  coin. 


216  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

*c  O  yes,  never  fear  for  that." 

And  Viny  went  down  stairs  rubbing  her  hands,  and 
talking  softly  to  herself,  "  Dat  ar  Patsey  braggin'  'bout 
her  baby ;  nothin'  but  a  blue  skinned  nigger,  anyhow. 
Don't  begin  wid  mine." 

This  was  the  commencement  of  a  long  list  of  commis- 
sions to  be  executed  in  town.  Not  alone  for  those  upon 
the  place,  though  every  servant  had  some  little  trifle  for 
Miss  Nanny  or  Fanny  to  get,  but  every  body  in  the  neigh- 
borhood seemed  in  want  of  something,  and  no  sooner  was 
it  known  that  Nanny  Catlett  and  the  new  teacher  were 
going  to  town,  than  the  requests  came  pouring  in.  Mrs. 
Turner  sent  for  some  children's  dresses,  Mrs.  Baldridge 
for  a  dozen  yards  of  sheeting,  and  Madam  Gamby  for 
three  yards  of  cap  bordering,  of  a  certain  width,  to  cost 
not  over  a  bit  a  yard,  and  as  much  below  that  price  as  it 
was  possible  to  obtain  it. 

The  young  ladies  undertook  all  the  charges,  promising 
to  do  the  best  they  could,  Nanny  remembering  that  they 
should  have  cousin  Julia  to  shop  with  them,  and  show 
them  all  the  best  stores. 

"  Your  father  is  going  to  the  store  with  you,  Nanny,  to 
see  you  off,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  as  they  were  taking  an 
early  supper  before  starting.  "He  don't  like  to  have 
you  go  alone,  especially  as  you  've  got  to  wait  at  Bel- 
cher's." 

"  Must  we  take  the  stage  at  the  store  ?"  said  Fanny, 
in  surprise.  "  I  thought  you  always  staid  at  Mr.  Bal 
dridge's." 

"  So  we  do,  but  they  're  all  gone  down  to  Cartersville, 
and  there  's  no  private  house  on  the  road  except  Tim 
Jenkins's." 

"  Tim  Jenkins's !"  said  Nanny,  in  great  disgust.  "  I 
think  I  ace  myself  stopping  there !  You  see  it  will  btf 


P  O  O  K     \V  H  I  T  E     F   fr  L  K  8  .  21? 

oleasani  enough  at  the  store,  Miss  Fanny.  There  's  two 
rooms,  you  know,  arid  they  '11  give  us  one  all  to  ourselves. 
We  can't  ivckon  on  gettin'  much  sleep  any  how,  for  the 
stage  starts  at  two." 

Just  then  Mr.  Catlett  appeared,  and  big  William  soon 
after,  driving  the  wagon  to  the  door,  the  good-byes  were 
said,  and  the  party  drove  merrily  off. 

At  the  store  Mr.  Catlett  jumped  out  to  see  what 
accommodations  he  could  procure  for  the  ladies,  but  soon 
returned  with  a  long  face. 

"  Now  we  are  in  a  hobble,"  he  said.  "  There  is  ri't  an 
inch  of  room  here.  There  's  three  men  from  Cartersville, 
waitin'  to  take  the  stage,  and  a  couple  of  drovers  from  up 
the  country.  They  are  a  rowdy,  drunken  set,  any  how, 
and  besides  they  '11  have  to  use.  both  rooms." 

"  What  in  the  world  shall  we  do  ?"  said  Nanny. 

"  Well,  I  don't  see  but  one  way,  and  that  is  to  drive  on 
half  a  mile  further,  and  stop  at  Tim  Jenkins's.  They'll 
find  a  room  for  you  in  their  old  shell,  and  it  won't  do  you 
any  hurt  for  one  night." 

"Mercy  on  us!"  screamed  Nanny,  "stop  with  them 
4  poor  white  folks !'  Why,  pa,  you  are  crazy  !  I  'd  rather 
wait  in  the  road." 

"  Well,  you  '11  have  to,  if  you  are  so  set  about  it,  or  else 
turn  about  and  go  home,  for  it 's  the  only  way  I  know  of," 
said  Mr.  Catlett. 

"  Why  can't  you  let  big  William  drive  us  on  to  Hull's  ?" 

"  That  would  be  smart !  Five  miles  and  back  after 
night,  over  such  a  road  as  this.  No,  we'll  go  home,  and 
wait  another  day." 

"O  dear!  Miss  Fanny,  what  would  you  do?"  said 
Nanny. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  stop  at  this  Mr.  Jenkins's.  If 
we  waited  another  day  we  might  not  be  any  better  off. 

10 


213  W  E  S  T  E  11  N    B  u  K  D  E  R     1,  I  F  E. 

I  suppose  they  are  liable  to  be   full  any  night  at   the 
store." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Catlett.  "  There  's  a  deal  of 
travel  just  now  from  up  the  country.  Come,  Nanny,  do 
diow  a  little  common  sense  for  once  in  your  life." 

"  But  they  are  such  low  people,"  said  his  daughter.    " 
would  n't  have  it  known  we  stopped  there  for  all  the 
world.1' 

"  Well,  nobody  will  know  it,  and  you  need  n't  have 
the  first  thing  to  do  with  'em,  only  to  stay  there  in  the 
room  they  give  you,  till  the  stage  comes  along." 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  if  they  would  n't  let  us  stay," 
said  Nanny.  "Such  people  are  always  spiteful  to  their 
betters." 

"Pshaw  !  they'll  be  proud  of  the  chance  to  keep  you. 
Drive  on,  William." 

"  Well,"  said  Nanny,  "  I  never  thought  I  should  come 
down  to  askin'  a  lodgin'  of c  poor  white  folks.'  If  I  did  n't 
want  to  go  so  bad,  I  'd  turn  right  round  and  go  home 
now." 

A  ride  of  half  a  mile  over  the  prairie,  brought  them  to 
their  stopping-place.  Fanny  could  just  see  in  the  thick- 
ening darkness,  that  it  was  a  small  log  house,  a  little  back 
from  the  road.  At  the  noise  they  made  in  stopping,  a 
wooden  shutter  was  pushed  open,  and  the  figure  of  a  child, 
with  long  hair,  and  a  dirty,  haggard  face,  appeared  a  mo- 
ment, holding  a  lighted  candle  in  her  hand. 

u  Oh,  dear,"  said  Nanny,  "  that 's  the  young  one,  I 
reckon.  How  I  hate  to  go  in." 

"  Hush  up !"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  "  they  are  comin'  to  the 
door." 

It  was  opened  by  the  man  who  had  paid  Mrs.  Catlett 
a  visit  the  day  after  Fanny's  arrival.  His  face  expressed 
a  kind  of  angry  surprise  on  seeing  who  it  was,  and  he 


POOR     WHITE     FOLKS.  219 

made  a  movement  as  though  he  would  have  shut  the  door 
in  their  faces,  but  restrained  himself. 

"  How  are  you,  Jenkins  ?"  said  the  \squire.  "  These 
women  want  to  stop  here  till  the  stage  comes  along. 
Baid ridge  's  gone,  and  the  store's  full.  Can  you  give  'em 
a  room  ?" 

"  I  '11  see,"  said  the  man,  coldly.  And  setting  down  his 
candle,  which  was  stuck  into  an  old  bottle,  upon  the  floor, 
he  left  them  together. 

"I  told  you  how  'twould  be,  pa.  You've  come  on  a 
fool's  errand  after  all.  He  looked  like  he  'd  bite  a  door 
nail  in  two,"  said  Nanny. 

Just  then  a  woman  came  courtesying  forward.  She  had 
a  lean,  sallow  face,  with  gray  locks  hanging  over  it,  and  was 
dressed  in  a  ragged  black  petticoat,  and  a  short  gown, 
while  her  feet  were  slip-shod  and  stockingless. 

"  Walk  right  in,  ladies  ;  walk  right  in  to  the  fire.  I  'm 
sure  you  are  quite  welcome,"  she  said,  courtesying  between 
each  sentence,  and  smoothing  down  her  rags. 

Her  servile  politeness  seemed  more  offensive  to  Nanny 
than  the  man's  sulky  ill-humor. 

"  We  are  plenty  warm,"  she  sa'd,  hastily  drawing  back 
as  the  woman  approached.  "  Could  you  let  us  stay  in 
this  room  till  the  stage  comes  along  ?" 

She  looked  round  the  forlorn  apartment  as  she  spoke, 
which  occupying  half  the  house,  opened  .directly  upon  the 
front  door. 

"  La,  yes  ;"  said  the  woman.  "  Pa,  you  step  right  out, 
and  toat  in  an  armful  of  that  light  wood,  and  scare  up  a 
fire.  You  'd  better  come  in  where  it 's  warm,  ladies. 
This  room  ain't  used  much,  and  it  feels  mighty  agueish  to 
me."  She  shook  as  she  spoke  till  her  rags  fluttered. 

It  was  not  an  inviting  place.  The  close  cellarish  air 
was  reeking  with  the  smell  of  boiled  cabbage,  and  long 


220  WESTERN    BORDER     LIFK, 

cobwebs  were  flaunting  from  the  bare  rafters  overload. 
The  floor  was  partly  broken  up,  and  some  of  it  appeared 
to  have  been  used  for  fuel,  an  ax  still  lying  by  a  half  split 
plank.  Two  or  three  barrels  and  boxes,  some  old  shoes,  a 
few  carpenter's  tools  on  a  shelf,  and  a  bunch  of  dried 
herbs  hanging  in  the  chimney-corner,  was  all  the  room  con- 
tained, and  nothing  could  exceed  its  desolate  appearance. 

But  Nanny  refused  to  go  into  the  apartment  where  the 
family  lived.  She  appeared  to  think  that  this  would  place 
her  too  much  upon  an  equality  with  her  entertainers,  and 
begged  Fanny  so  earnestly  not  to  go,  that  she  pre- 
vailed, and  they  both  sat  shivering  on  an  old  box  till  a  fire 
was  kindled,  and  began  to  diffuse  a  little  warmth  through 
the  room.  The  man  performed  this  task  in  sulky  silence, 
and  after  bringing  in  an  armful  of  wood  from  the  other 
room,  he  left  them  to  themselves. 

"Now,  then,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  "I'm  going  back  to 
Belcher's,  and  when  the  stage  takes  us  up  there,  I  '11  give 
you  a  signal.  YOU  must  be  sure  to  wake  up  and  be 
ready." 

"  Wake  up  !"  said  Nanny.  "  I  'm  sure  I  don't  reckon  on 
sleepin'  one  single  wink.  That  man  has  a  dreadful,  dan- 
gerous look  to  me.  What  an  ugly  scowl  he  put  on." 

"  Poor  creatures  !"  said  Fanny.  "  They  look  as  though 
they  had  seen  hard  times." 

"  I  reckon  them  sort  of  people  always  do,"  said  Nanny, 
in  an  indifferent  tone.  "  Poor,  miserable,  shiftless,  no 
account  things !  Well,  now,  this  is  a  little  more  like. 
Come,  Miss  Fanny,  you  help,  me  toat  this  old  box  nigher 
the  fire,  and  we  '11  really  be  tolerably  comfortable." 

"  N  army,"  said  Fanny,  after  a  pause.  "  We  are  treat- 
ing these  people  very  rudely." 

"  How  ?"  said  Nanny.  "  We  have  n't  had  any  thing  to 
do  with  'em  that  I  know  of." 


POOK    WHITE    FOLKS.  221 

"  Well,  that 's  the  very  thing.  Here  we  are  under  their 
roof,  and  warming  ourselves  by  their  fire,  and  yet  treating 
them  with  cold  contempt.  I  don't  think  it  is  right." 

"  Why  not,  pray  ?  Do  you  think  we  are  going  to  keep 
company  with  'em  out  there  in  their  hog-pen  ?" 

"  I  think  we  ought  to  go  and  sit  with  them  a  while," 
said  Fanny.  "  It  seems  so  proud,  and  hard-hearted,  to  be 
away  here  by  ourselves,  as  though  they  were  not  good 
enough  to  speak  to." 

"  Well,  they  ain't,"  said  Nanny,  bluntly. 

"  Besides,"  said  Fanny,  thoughtfully,  "  they  seem  very 
poor,  and  wretched,  perhaps  we  might  say  something  to 
comfort  them  and  do  them  good." 

"  Fanny  Hunter,  you  are  wild,"  said  Nanny.  "  Go  and 
sit  with  those  low  folks,  and  hear  over  their  grievances  ? 
No,  indeed;  you  won't  catch  me  at  it.  Ma  never  al- 
lowed us  to  speak  to  'em,  if  we  could  help  it,  and  the  very 
niggers  turn  up  their  noses  at  'em." 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Fanny.  -"I  feel  sorry  for  them, 
and  if  you  would  n't  mind  staying  alone  awhile,  I  should 
like  to  go  in  and  talk  with  them." 

"Now,  Miss  Fanny,  you  ain't  goin'  in  there  sure 
enough  ?  If  you  knew  what  a  disgrace  it  is  to  be  seen 
speaking  to  such  people,  you  would  n't  stir  a  step.  I  'm 
sure  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  for  our  sakes,  if  you  don't 
care  yourself." 

"  If  it 's  a  disgrace  to  have  any  thing  to  do  with  them, 
Nanny,  you  and  I  have  disgraced  ourselves  pretty  thor 
oughly  by  asking  a  night's  lodging.  I  don't  think  tha 
treating  them  kindly  now  that  we  are  here,  can  make  the 
matter1  any  worse,  Besides  you  are  not  in  the  least  re- 
sponsible for  what  I  do ;  I  will  take  all  the  blame,  if  there 
is  any.  But  if  you  *eel  afraid  to  stay  alone — " 

u  O !  go,  if  you  choose,"  said  Nanny,  a  little  testily 


222  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  If  you  can  find  any  comfort  in  keeping  company  with 
such  folks,  I  'm  sure  you  are  welcome  to  go." 

Fanny  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  knocked  softly  at 
the  door  of  the  next  room. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?"  she  said,  opening  it  a  little  way. 

The  woman  tipped  the  contents  of  a  chair  upon  the 
floor,  and  hastened  to  set  it  near  the  fire,  inviting  the 
young  lady  to  be  seated,  but  the  master  of  the  house, 
who  was  idly  whittling  a  bit  of  wood,  did  not  raise  his 
eyes.  , 

It  was  a  wretched  place,  as  filthy  and  comfortless  a  den 
as  was  ever  claimed  by  a  poor  creature  for  his  home. 
From  the  rotting  timbers  overhead,  with  their  broad 
cracks,  through  which  the  wind  whistled,  down  to  the 
dirty  floor  and  the  unswept  hearth,  all  told  a  tale  of  thrift- 
less, abject  misery. 

They  had  just  finished  eating,  and  the  woman  was  shuf- 
fling backward  and  forward,  between  the  table  and  a  shelf 
in  the  corner,  where  she  stowed  away  the  unwashed  dishes 
and  the  remnants  of  a  corn-cake,  from  which  they  appeared 
to  have  made  their  meal.  A  little  girl,  ragged  and  dirty, 
was  squatted  flat  upon  the  floor,  munching  a  bit  of  the 
crust. 

To  her,  Fanny  first  addressed  herself,  but  her  attempt* 
at  commencing  an  acquaintance  were  met  only  by  a  broad 
vacant  stare,  and  a  continued  munching  at  the  crust. 

"  Can't  you  speak  to  the  lady,  Jane  ?"  said  her  mother. 
"  You  need  n't  mind  her,  miss,  she  don't  see  much  com- 
pany, and  feels  kind  of  strange,  you  see." 

"How  old  is  she  ?"  inquired  Fanny,  pleasantly. 

(;  She  '11  be  ten  next  September  ;  but  she  's  small  of  her 
age.  The  chills  seemed  to  have  stinted  her  growth.  I'm 
in  hopes  she  '11  take  a  start  by-and-by." 

"  Have  you  found  a  school  for  her  yet  ?"  said  Fanny. 


POOK    WHITE    FOLKS.  223 

It  was  an  unfortunate  question. 

"  No,"  said  the  man,  gruffly,  "  thanks  to  such  as  you, 
the  brat 's  left  to  graw  up  a  heathen.  You  can  think  of 
that  for  your  comfort,  when  you  are  teachin'  the  rich 
man's  children." 

"  O,  pa,  don't,"  said  the  woman. 

"  I  was  a  fool  for  goin',"  he  continued,  without  heeding 
the  interruption.  "  I  might  have  known  the  kind  of  an- 
swer they'd  give  me.  Their  very  niggers,  curse  'em! 
hooted  me  out  of  the  yard.  I  might  have  known  it. 
What  do  you  care  what  becomes  of  the  poor  man's  young 
'uns,  so  you  get  another  sort  to  work  on?" 

"  Mr.  Jenkins,"  said  Fanny,  gently,  "  you  forget  that 
it  was  not  I  who  refused  to  teach  your  little  girl.  I  can't 
choose  my  own  scholars." 

"  O,  eh,  you  are  like  all  the  rest  of  'em.  You  like  the 
rich  man's  money  the  best.  You  'd  trample  us  down  to 
the  very  ground  you  tread  on.  That's  what  you'd  do. 
And  put  the  miserable  nigger-drivers  over  our  heads." 

"  Why,  pa,  I  'm  sure  you  said  the  young  lady  was  a 
mind  to  take  her,  if  the  mistress  was  willin',"  said  the  wo- 
man. "  Don't  talk  that  way  now,  don't!" 

"  Well,  mebbe  she  was,"  said  the  man,  drawing  his 
hand  over  his  forehead,  as  if  to  clear  his  thoughts.  "  I 
get  confused  times,  and  can't  remember.  These  troubles 
are  drivin'  me  crazy,  I  reckon.  You  see  I  did  want  that 
gal  to  know  something,"  he  continued,  pointing  to  the 
forlorn  child.  "  She  's  the  last  of  live  as  likely  children  as 
any  of  your  nigger  owners'  brats.  The  fever  carried  off 
four  of 'em,  one  after  the  other,  and  when  the  last  two  lay 
dead  in  the  house,  and  she  goin'  the  same  way,  I  prayed 
the  Lord  to  spare  us  just  this  one;  but  there!  ehe  5d  be 
better  off,  lyin'  alongside  the  other  four." 

"  O,  pa!"  said  the  woman  again. 


224  WESTERN     BOEDER    LIFE. 

"  And  why  not  ?"  he  said  sharply,  "  You  know  what 
she 's  growin'  up  to,  and  how  the  very  nigger  wenches 
will  look  down  on  her.  You  know  the  life  we've  led  in 
this  cursed  country,  where  it 's  a  disgrace  to  a  man  to 
work  for  his  living,  and  any  lazy  fool  that  can  keep  a  few 
niggers  to  wait  on  him,  turns  up  his  nose  at  an  honest 
mechanic.  There  's  republicanism  for  you !  We  are  all 
free  and  equal  here,  young  woman,  ain't  we?  When  I 
came  to  this  country,  I  had  a  wife  and  four  children  as 
likely  as  any  body's,  a  good  trade,  and  a  pair  of  stout 
arms  to  work  it,  and  one  hundred  dollars  in  cash  that  I 
laid  out  on  this  place,  'rot  it !  We  've  been  here  just  ten 
years,  and  you  see  what  we  are." 

He  rose  to  his  feet  as  he  spoke,  lean  and  gaunt  as  the 
very  image  of  famine,  and  as  Fanny  gazed  from  him  to  hia 
wretched  companion,  who  in  her  filth  and  rags  stood  list- 
lessly leaning  against  the  chimney,  and  upon  the  pallid, 
half  idiot  face  of  their  child,  his  words  came  home  to  her 
with  terrible  reality. 

"  Yes,  you  see  what  we  are,"  he  repeated  bitterly ; 
"  '  poor,  no  account,  white  folks,'  they  call  us ;  hardly 
good  enough  for  their  niggers  to  speak  to.  And  what  's 
made  us  so.  Tell  me  that,  will  you  ?  Did  n't  I  come 
here,  ready  to  dig  and  work,  week  in  and  week  out,  to 
keep  my  family  respectable.  We  were  poor,  to  be  sure, 
but  my  house  was  as  clean  and  my  children  as  well  dressed 
as  any  body's.  How  did  I  come  to  be  a  shiftless,  lazy, 
good-for-nothing  fellow,  and  my  wife  \yhat  she  is,  hey?" 

He  turned  fiercely  to  Fanny  for  an  answer,  but  she  only 
shook  her  head. 

"  I  '11  tell  you,"  he  said,  hissing  the  words  out  between 
his  clenched  teeth,  "it's  this  cursed  slavery  that 's  done 
it.  It 's  robbed  us  of  our  honest  livin',  it 's  cheated  ua 
and  starved  us,  and  dragged  us  down  lower  than  the  ly- 


POOR    WHITE    FOLKS.  225 

irig,  thievish,  black-faced  rascals  they  call  slaves.  Slaves ! 
They  are  all  slaves  in  this  confounded  hole.  The  masters 
are  slaves  to  their  servants,  and  the  servants  to  the  mas- 
ters, and  we — we  are  the  lowest  slaves  of  any.  Did  n't  I 
slave  it  for  'em  when  I  joined  that  rascally  expedition  over 
the  border,  to  rout  a  man  off  his  own  land?  Did  they 
tell  you  it  was  Tim  Jenkins,  '  poor  white  folks,'  that  struck 
the  first  blow,  and  led  on  the  cowardly  slave-holding  dev- 
ils to  do  the  rest.  Hey  ?  What  did  I  do  it  for  ?  Be- 
cause  they  paid  me  for  it,  girl.  It 's  only  for  such  kind 
of  work  they  pay  white  folks  in  Missouri.  I  've  seen  the 
time  when  I  'd  have  gone  on  my  knees  to  'em  for  a  job  of 
honest  work,  to  keep  my  wife  and  children  from  starving." 

"  Is  there  no  way  of  getting  employment  ?"  said  Fanny. 
"  Can't  you  find  some  kind  of  work  ?" 

"  Can  I  ?  Have  n't  you  been  long  enough  in  this  vile 
country  to  find  out  that  there  's  no  such  thing  as  free  labor 
here  ?  Would  any  body  pay  out  money  to  a  white  man, 
do  you  think,  when  they  could  get  a  nigger  for  nothin'  ? 
I  tell  you,  girl,  the  richest  slave-holder  in  Missouri  will  go 
with  his  roof  unshingled  and  his  chimneys  tumbling  down, 
before  he  '11  pay  an  honest  white  man  a  sixpence.  The 
abolitionists  talk  about  the  wrongs  slavery  brings  on  the 
niggers ;  let  'em  tell  what  it  does  to  the  white  man.  I 
could  tell  how  it's  ruined  one  family."  He  leaned  his 
head  on  his  hand  and  groaned  aloud. 

"  Why  don't  you  move  to  a  free  State  ?"  said  Fanny. 
"  It 's  but  a  little  way  into  Illinois." 

"  Who  is  going  to  buy  my  place  ?"  said  the  man. 
u  There  are  plaguy  few  as  big  fools  as  we  were,  when  we 
had  the  \vhole  west  to  choose  from,  and  settled  down  in  a 
slave  State.  Nobody  ever  comes  from  the  free  States 
here  to  live.  There  's  hundreds  to  Illinois  where  there  's 
one  to  Missouri.  They  can't  but  sre  what  a  curse  ther* 

10* 


226  WESTEEN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

% 

is  on  the  land,  how  the  very  air  is  tainted,  and  stinks  of 
slavery.  Good  Lord!  it  chokes  me  now.  I  haven't 
dravnn  a  free  breath  since  we  crossed  the  river.  No,  no, 
gal,  the  devil  sent  us  here,  and  stay  here  we  must  till  we 
ro'." 

He  flung  himself  out  of  the  room,  slamming  the  door 
ehind  him. 

"  Deary  me !"  said  the  woman,  wiping  her  eyes  with 
Her  ragged  petticoat,  "  to  see  him  now,  and  to  think  what 
he  was  when  we  come  here.  As  good  a  workman  at  his 
trade  as  there  was  anywhere  about,  and  so  cheerful  and 
happy,  whistling  at  his  work,  and  kind  to  his  children. 
Well,  well !» 

"  Where  did  you  live  before  you  came  to  Missouri  ?" 
said  Fanny. 

"  We  lived  in  York  State.  My  four  children  was  all 
born  there.  We  had  a  snug  little  place  to  live  in,  that 
we  calculated  to  own  before  we  died,  but  my  man  he  took 
a  notion  to  come  west,  and  there  could  n't  nothin'  stop 
him.  Well,  we  pulled  up  stakes,  and  come  out  here,  and 
the  first  year  we  was  all  of  us  pretty  much  taken  down  with 
the  chills.  There  wasn't  a  neighbor  within  a  mile,  only 
Mr.  Baldridge's  folks,  and  they  never  would  have  any  thing 
to  do  with  us  from  the  first.  Well,  you  see,  I  had  every 
thing  to  do,  to  wait  on  the  rest,  and  I  've  kept  round  when 
my  head  felt  like  a  bushel-measure,  and  my  hands  would 
have  sizzed  if  you  'd  put  'em  in  water.  We  had  a  long 
spell  of 'em,  and  the  two  girls  never  got  up  ;  they  kinder 
pined  away,  and  in  the  hot  weather  the  fever  took  'em, 
and  we  buried  'em  both  out  yonder  in  the  woods." 

She  stopped  a  moment  to  wipe  her  eyes,  and  went 
on. 

"  About  that  time  this  child  was  born.  I  'd  been  kinder 
ailin'  all  summer.  There  did  n't  seem  to  be  no  strength 


POOR    WHITE    FOLKS.  227 

nor  courage  in  me,  work  was  dredful  scarce,  and  then  the 
ague  lop  of  it  all,  made  us  all  feel  pretty  low.  The  poor 
little  thing  came  into  the  world,  right  in  the  midst  of  all 
our  trouble,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  was  stamped  into  her 
from  the  very  first.  I  never  said  any  thing  to  my  man 
about  it,  but  she  ain't  like  the  other  children.  She  began 
to  shake  the  first  hour  she  was  born,  and  she  's  kept  it  up 
by  spells  ever  since.  I  can't  help  thinkin'  I  gave  her  so 
much  of  the  sorrow  and  trouble  that  was  on  us  all,  that 
she  '11  never  get  over  it.  She  '11  sit  there,  cowerin'  over 
the  fire,  hours  and  hours,  just  as  I  used  to.  My  man  he 
thinks  if  we  got  a  little  learning  into  her,  't  would  make 
her  more  like  other  children,  but  I  've  an  idea  she  's  got 
to  carry  that  load  through  life.  Poor  thing !  I  don't  know 
but  we'd  all  be  better  off  in  our  graves." 

"  All  this  trouble  and  sorrow  must  lead  you  to  think 
sometimes  of  that  world  where  none  can  ever  come,"  said 
Fanny,  gently. 

"  It 's  precious  little  time  such  as  we  get  to  think  about 
another  world.  It 's  all  we  can  do  to  keep  soul  and  body 
together  in  this,"  said  the  woman. 

*'  But  a  world  so  full  of  pain,  and  distress,  is  hardly 
worth  cne  's  whole  life  time  of  care.  In  the  midst  of  waut 
and  trouble,  it  is  a  blessed  thought  that  God  has  a  home 
for  those  who  are  prepared  to  spend  an  eternity  of  bliss 
with  Him." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to  live  any  more,  if  I  once  get 
through  here,"  said  the  woman.  "  One  life  is  quite 
ci?ough  for  me." 

"But  you  must  live,"  said  Fanny,  earnestly.  "Don't 
you  know  that  your  soul  can  never  die  ?" 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  woman,  in  a  careless  tone. 
*'  \  've  no  time  to  attend  to  such  things." 

Words  were  thrown  away,  so  utterly  careless  and  indif 


228  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

fereut  did  she  appear,  and  bidding  her  good-night,  Fanny 
returned  to  the  other  room. 

She  found  the  fire  reduced  to  a  bed  of  coals,  and  Nanny 
with  her  shawl  wrapped  about  her,  stretched  upon  the 
old  box,  fast  asleep.  She  threw  on  a  fresh  log,  and  sitting 
down,  watched  it  crackle  and  blaze,  while  she  thought 
over  the  events  of  the  evening.  There  was  but  a  thin 
partition  between  the  rooms,  and  for  an  hour  or  two 
she  could  hear  the  movements  of  her  neighbors,  the  gruff 
voice  of  the  man  now  and  then  breaking  the  silence,  but 
the  greater  part  of  the  conversation  being  carried  on  by 
the  woman.  At  length  all  became  quiet,  and  leaning  her 
head  on  her  hands,  Fanny  fell  into  a  dreamy,  half  dozing 
state,  in  which  she  could  see  nothing  but  the  face  of  Tim 
Jenkins  peering  out  upon  her  from  the  decaying  lire,  in 
grotesque  shapes.  It  started  up  suddenly  from  a  black- 
ened ember,  or  grinned  horribly  from  a  bed  of  ashes, 
dancing  and  flickering  about  a  moment,  and  disappearing 
only  to  spring  up  again  in  some  doubly  hideous  form. 

How  long  this  continued  she  could  not  tell,  but  she  was 
suddenly  roused  from  a  deep  slumber  by  a  shrill  whistle, 
which  broke  the  stillness  of  the  air,  and  waking  Nanny,  they 
hurried  on  their  bonnets  and  shawls,  and  the  next  moment, 
the  rumbling  of  the  stage  was  heard  coming  up  the  road. 

Is  was  a  clear,  moonlight  night,  and  as  Nanny  stepped 
out  of  doors,  she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise  and 
dismay. 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Miss  Fanny,  it 's  a  mud  wagon  !" 

The  vehicle  thus  denominated  was  a  long,  awkward 
concern,  set  upon  heavy  wheels,  and  with  a  white  cloth 
top,  being  similar  in  appearance  to  a  peddler's  cart,  or  a 
Shaker  farm  wagon. 

"Come,  are  you  ready?"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  jumping 
down  from  his  seat  by  the  driver. 


POOR    WHITE    FOLKS.     .  229 

"O,  pa,  why  didn't  they  come  with  the  stage?"  said 
Nanny,  disconsolately. 

"Because  the  road  is  so  bad.  They  got  mired  last 
night  the  other  side  of  Hull's." 

"It  seems  as  if  every  thing  went  against  us,"  said 
Nanny.  "  The  idea  of  drivin'  into  town  in  a  mud- wagon. 
It 's  too  provoking !  Just  see  wrhat  seats,  and  not  a  bit  of 
straw  in  the  bottom  for  our  feet." 

Long  after  the  rude  vehicle  was  plodding  over  the  road, 
Nanny  continued  her  complaints,  and  only  ceased  when 
sinking  back  in  the  corner,  she  fell  into  an  uneasy  slum- 
ber. The  ride  was  in  the  highest  degree  uncomfortable ; 
the  wagon  without  springs,  and  the  roads  in  the  worst 
possible  condition  ;  and  when  about  day-light  they  entered 
the  narrow  street  of  what  had  formerly  been  a  thriving 
French  trading  village,  but  was  now  so  small  as  scarcely 
to  deserve  the  name,  our  travelers  were  too  thoroughly 
chilled  with  the  cold  to  think  of  any  thing  but  the  com- 
forts of  a  lire  and  a  warm  breakfast. 

At  the  only  public  house  the  village  contained,  with  its 
projecting  roof  and  long  porch  in  front,  they  alighted, 
and  quickly  found  comfort  in  its  ample  fireplace,  where 
the  great  logs  were  burning  as  cheerily  as  at  La  Belle  Prai- 
rie. A  good  breakfast  and  a  little  "  fixin'  up,"  made  dif- 
ferent beings  of  them,  and  when,  on  starting,  the  hateful 
mud-wagon  was  found  to  have  been  exchanged  for  the 
regular  stage,  Nanny's  spirits  all  returned,  and  the  rest 
of  the  journey  was  performed  as  prosperously  as  even  that 
difficult  young  lady  could  have  wished. 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

CITY     LIFE. 

IN  Aunt  Susan's  pleasant  breakfast-room,  behold  OUT 
country  guests  assembled  one  morning,  as  cozily  settled 
as  though  they  had  been  members  of  the  family  circle  for 
weeks,  instead  of  having  spent  the  three  previous  days  in 
staging  it  over  a  rough  road. 

Mrs.  Stanton  had  a  cordial,  motherly  way  with  her,  and 
a  habit  of  addressing  all  young  persons  as  "  my  dear," 
that  caused  a  stranger  at  once  to  feel  at  home  in  her  so- 
ciety, and  there  was  a  tone  in  her  voice  that  reminded 
Fanny  so  strongly  of  her  mother,  as  once  or  twice  to 
bring  the  tears  into  her  eyes.  "  Cousin  Julia"  was  all 
smiles  and  politeness,  a  very  fine-looking  girl,  Fanny 
thought,  with  her  dark  eyes,  graceful  form,  and  proud 
bearing.  The  judge  was  just  what  she  had  imagined  him 
to  be,  a  gray-headed,  gentlemanly  man,  somewhere  be- 
tween fifty  and  sixty  years  of  age,  a  little  stately  in  his 
carriage,  but  kind  and  affable  in  manners.  He  appeared 
late,  and  bowing  slightly  as  he  entered  the  room,  walked 
straight  to  his  wife's  seat,  and  with  a  grave  "  good-morning, 
Mrs.  Stanton,"  he  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss,  after  which  he 
shook  hands  with  his  guests.  This  happened  every  morn- 
ing, the  judge  never  omitting  the  ceremony,  it  being  one 
of  his  old  Virginia  customs  that  must  always  be  observed. 

"  We  must  have  out  the  carriage,  Julia,  this  fine  morn- 


CITY    LIFE.  231 

ing,"  said  the  judge,  "  and  show  our  young  ladies  a  little 
of  the  city.  Miss  Hunter  tells  me  it  is  all  new  to  her,  and 
as  for  Miss  Nanny,  they  have  kept  her  up  on  the  prairie 
so  long,  that  she  must  have  forgotten  all  she  knew  about 
us  here." 

"Harry  Chester  spoke  of  calling  this  morning,  papa. 
Our  visitors  are  old  acquaintances,  you  know,  of  his," 
said  Julia. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  remember  how  they  kept  him  up  there 
last  winter,  gallanting  them  about,  till  our  young  ladies 
thought  they  had  lost  him  for  good  and  all.  Well,  if 
there  's  a  younger  beau  in  the  question,  of  course  I  shall 
stand  no  chance,  though  I  have  seen  the  time  when  young 
ladies  thought  twice  before  they  refused  rny  invitations. 
Hey,  wife?" 

"  I  can  hardly  tax  my  memory  so  far  back,  judge,"  said 
Mrs.  Stanton ;  "  but  Julia,  my  dear,  you  need  not  give  up 
your  ride.  Mr.  Chester  can  go  with  you ;  the  carriage  is 
roomy." 

"  Yes,  mamma,"  said  Julia,  "  and  then  we  can  visit  tho 
picture-gallery,  you  know.  It  is  so  much  pleasanter  to  go 
with  a  gentleman." 

"  With  a  young  gentleman,  you  mean,"  said  her  father. 

"  Now,  papa,  you  know  you  never  have  time  to  go  to 
such  places.  Of  course  we  should  n't  think  of  asking 
you." 

"  O,  no,  you  are  very  considerate.     The  young  gentle- 
.  man's  time  is  of  not  the  least  consequence,  I  suppose." 

"  That 's  his  look-out,  papa.  He  never  seems  in  a  grea 
harry  at  such  times." 

"Well,  young  ladies,"  said  the  judge,  "I  find  that  I 
must  now  tear  myself  away  from  your  charming  society, 
Julia,  if  I  find  you  teaching  these  country  lasses  any  of 
your  citified  tricks,  for  instance  how  to  lay  snares  for  un 


232  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

wary  birds,  I  shall  send  them  back  to  their  prairie  home 
forthwith,  as  the  only  way  to  keep  them  uncontaminated. 
So  now  be  cautious.  And  give  me  a  cup  of  Virginia 
water,  and  then  I  'm  off." 

They  were  standing  in  the  hall,  and  stepping  to  the 
further  end,  where,  upon  a  stand,  stood  a  bucket  of  water, 
with  a  battered  old  gourd-shell  hanging  above  it,  Julia 
filled  it,  and  brought  it  to  her  father.  "  There,  young 
ladies,"  said  the  judge,  with  a  flourish  of  his  strange  drink- 
ing-cup  ;  "  there  's  the  gourd-shell  that  hung  in  my  father's 
log-cabin  in  Virginia.  I've  drank  out  of  silver  cups 
since,  but,  water  never  tastes  half  so  sweet." 

In  the  course  of  the  morning  Mr.  Chester  made  his  ap- 
pearance. He  seemed  delighted  to  see  the  new-comers, 
and  sitting  down  between  them  on  the  sofa,  entered  into 
an  animated  conversation  about  the  prairie-people.  Fanny, 
on  her  part,  met  him  again  with  sincere  pleasure,  and 
either  the  cordial  frankness  of  their  greeting,  or  their 
freedom  of  conversation,  excited  Cousin  Julia's  notice. 

"  You  became  very  well  acquainted  with  Harry  Chester 
last  winter,  did  you  not,  Miss  Hunter  ?"  she  remarked,  as 
they  were  tying  on  their  bonnets,  preparatory  to  the 
ride.  "  You  met  quite  like  old  friends." 

"  Did  we  ?"  said  Fanny.  "  Well,  I  suppose,  in  a  certain 
sense,  we  are.  Friendships  formed  in  the  country,  where 
we  are  dependent  upon  the  home-circle  for  nearly  all  our 
society,  ripen  very  fast,  especially  if  the  parties  are  gath- 
ered under  the  same  roof.  Nanny  and  I  feel  as  if  we  had 
known  Mr.  Chester  for  years,  instead  of  weeks." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Nanny.  "  He  came  right  in,  and 
made  himself  as  much  at  home  as  if  he  had  always  lived 
there.  He  seemed  kinder  like  one  of  the  family.  I  tell 
you,  Cousin  Julia,  it's  a  grand  thing  to  have  any  one 
come  so." 


LIFE  233 

"  Especially  if  that  one  is  n't  a  disagreeable  person  in 
himself.  Harry  Chester  must  have  been  good  company 
for  you  those  long  winter  evenings." 

"I  reckon  he  was,"  said  Nanny.  "We  missed  him 
dreadfully  when  he  went  away.  Did  n't  we,  Miss  Fan- 
uy?" 

The  ride  was  very  pleasant.  The  country  visitors  were 
too  busy  in  "  seeing  the  sights"  to  attend  to  any  thing 
else,  and  Julia  and  Mr.  Chester  kept  up  an  animated  con- 
versation on  the  front  seat,  only  stopping  now  and  then  to 
point  out  places  of  note.  At  the  gallery  of  paintings, 
Fanny  found  occupation  for  a  day,  and  her  companions 
becoming  a  little  out  of  patience  at  her  slow  progress, 
finally  left  her  to  take  her  own  time  in  following  them 
through  the  room. 

When  at  length  she  looked  about  for  them,  Nanny  was 
sitting  upon  one  of  the  benches  near-by,  and  Julia  and 
Mr.  Chester  standing  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Their  side-faces  were  turned  toward  her,  and  Julia,  who 
was  just  then  talking  earnestly,  had  laid  her  gloved  hand 
upon  his  arm,  while  he,  Fanny  thought,  was  gazing  admir- 
ingly at  her  upturned  face. 

"  How  well  she  looks !"  thought  Fanny,  "  and  what  a 
handsome  couple  they  make !  We  have  come  at  a  wrong 
time,  I  am  afraid,  to  interrupt  their  pleasant  little  tete-a- 
tetes." 

Returning  again  to  her  picture,  she  forgot  every  thing 
else,  till  Cousin  Julia  touched  her  on  the  arm,  and  asked, 
playfully,  whether  "she  would  stay  there  all  day  or  go 
liorne  and  get  some  dinner  ?" 

"  One  could  afford  well  to  lose  a  dinner,  with  such  a 
rich  treat  before  them,"  said  Fanny,  in  the  same  tone; 
"  but  excuse  me  I  have  really  kept  you  all  waiting.  .Let 
us  go  at  once." 


234  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  You  are  not  half  satisfied,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  noticing 
her  regretful  glance  as  they  left  the  room. 

"No,"  said  Fanny,  laughing.  "I'm  leaving  the  feast 
very  hungry." 

"  So  am  I,"  said  Julia,  "  though  in  a  different  sense. 
My  ride  has  made  me  very  sharp  for  dinner.  Come,  or 
the  soup,  will  be  off  the  table  before  we  get  there." 

"  Will  you  spend  some  long  morning  here  with  me  5™ 
said  Mr.  Chester,  as  they  were  going  down  stairs.  "I 
should  like  to  examine  some  of  these  pictures  with  you." 

"  I  should  like  nothing  better,"  said  Fanny,  frankly. 

"  Well,  then,  we  will  consider  it  settled,"  said  the 
young  gentleman. 

"  What  is  that  you  will  consider  settled,  Mr.  Chester  ?" 
said  Cousin  Julia,  looking  back. 

"  Only  that  Miss  Hunter  and  I  are  coming  here  again, 
leaving  all  you  young  ladies,  who  are  in  such  a  hurry  foi 
your  dinner,  behind,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  laughing. 

"Treason!  Nanny.  Do  you  hear  that?"  said  Cousin 
Julia,  gayly ;  but  she  waited  until  the  loiterers  came  up, 
and  gave  the  conversation  a  general  turn  till  they  reached 
home. 

The  days  passed  swiftly  away  to  our  country  friends. 
There  was  so  much  to  do,  so  many  tilings  to  see.  and  such 
a  variety  of  occupations  to  fill  up  every  moment,  that  time 
fled  away  like  a  dream.  To  Fanny,  it  was  next  to  return- 
ing to  her  old  home.  This  sudden  change  from  her 
prairie  lifc,  with  all  its  discomforts  and  inconveniences,  to 
the  comforts  and  even  luxuries  of  a  city  residence,  from 
the  society  of  the  uneducated  and  coarse,  to  a  circle  of  re- 
fined and  cultivated  people,  was  almost  too  delightful  tc 
be  true.  She  woke  every  morning  with  the  vague  ex- 
pectation of  finding  her  pleasant  chamber,  with  its  snowy 
bed,  and  graceful  curtains,  exchanged  for  the  low,  corn,- 


CITY    LIFE.  235 

fortless  room,  with  its  dozen  occupants,  on  the  prairie,  and 
of  hearing,  instead  of  the  chiming  of  the  city  clocks,  the 
horn  blown  under  her  window,  or  big  William's  voice 
calling  the  cattle.  Cheerful  and  happy  she  had  been  in 
the  country,  but  this  return  to  her  old  way  of  life,  was  so 
delightful,  that  her  spirits  seemed  almost  uncontrollable, 
and  insensibly  her  enlivening  influence  spread  itself 
through  the  house. 

"I  like  that  little  New  England  girl,"  said  the  judge 
one  day.  "  There 's  something  very  fresh  and  sparkling 
about  her.  She  seems  like  a  bird  just  uncaged,  that  flut- 
ters and  sings,  to  try  its  very  freedom.  And,  after  all, 
she  is  so  graceful  and  lady-like  in  her  buoyancy,  that  one 
never  thinks  of  calling  her  rude." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Stanton,  "  she  is  far  from  that.  I 
have  learned  to  love  her  very  much.  With  all  her  gay- 
ety,  I  am  sure  she  has  deep  feeling,  for  when  she  spoke 
of  her  mother  did  n't  you  see  how  the  tears  came  into  her 
eyes.  Poor  child,  I'm  afraid  she  has  had  hard  times  this 
winter,  at  cousin  Jack's." 

The  love  and  pity  that  Mrs.  Stanton  felt  for  the  solitary 
girl,  showed  itself  in  her  gentle  words,  and  kind  motherly 
ways.  She  invited  Fanny's  confidence,  advised  her  in  lit- 
tle matters  about  her  dress,  doctored  her  for  a  slight  cold, 
and  by  a  hundred  little  deeds  of  kindness,  won  her  way 
into  Fanny's  heart.  Poor  child!  she  had  scarcely  known 
before  how  much  she  had  missed  a  mother's  tenderness, 
or  how  large  the  vacant  place  in  her  heart  had  been,  till 
it  was  in  some  measure  filled  by  this  unexpected  kindness 
She  gave  her  whole  heart  to  this  kind  friend,  and  could 
scarcely  have  felt  more  grateful  had  she  saved  her  life. 

There  was  but  one  member  of  the  family  whose  affec- 
tions Fanny  had  failed  to  engage,  and  this  was  Cousin 
Julia.  From  the  first,  she  had  regarded  her  visitor  witb 


236  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

coldness  and  suspicion,  and  though  perfectly  lady-like  and 
courteous  in  her  conduct,  omitting  none  of  those  polite 
attentions  due  to  a  guest,  Fanny  could  not  but  feel  at 
tifnes  that  there  was  no  heart  in  them.  It  was  the 
only  drawback  to  her  happiness,  and  she  troubled  herself 
not  a  little  to  divine  the  cause.  She  admired  cousin  Julia 
exceedingly,  often  thinking,  as  she  witnessed  the  grace 
and  dignity  with  which  she  performed  the  honors  of  hei 
father's  house,  how  well  fitted  she  was  to  adorn  the  high 
station  which  providence  had  assigned  her. 

And,  indeed,  there  was  much  in  Julia  Stanton  to  call 
forth  admiration.  The  pride  and  darling  of  her  parents, 
she  had  received  every  advantage  that  money  could  ob- 
tain, and  possessing  naturally  an  attractive  person  and  a 
quick,  though  somewhat  superficial  mind,  she  had  grown 
up  a  decidedly  brilliant  girl.  Such  an  one  is  not  apt  to 
lack  admirers,  epecially,  if  in  addition  to  her  other  at- 
tractions, she  is  heiress  to  quite  a  fortune.  Cousin  Julia 
was  toasted  and  flattered  to  her  heart's  content,  and  could 
at  any  moment  have  taken  her  pick  from  half  a  dozen 
suitors  dangling  in  her  train.  But,  though  she  dispensed 
her  favors  to  all,  dancing  with  one,  riding  with  another, 
and  flirting  generally  with  the  third,  Fanny's  quick  eye 
singled  out  the  favored  one,  and  she  felt  more  and  more 
convinced,  that  the  report  which  had  reached  La  Belle 
Prairie,  of  cousin  Julia's  engagement,  must  be  true.  In- 
deed the  young  lady  did  not  deny  it  herself,  but  when 
joked  upon  the  subject  by  Nanny,  put  on  that  conscious 
modest  air,  that  girls  in  such  cases  know  very  well  how  to 
assume,  and  which  implies  much  more  than  they  are  will- 
Ing  openly  to  confess. 

The  color  would  sometimes  flush  into  her  cheek  at  the 
sudden  mention  of  Harry  Chester,  and  her  wonted  calm* 
ness  of  manner  change  to  restless  excitement,  when  nis 


CITY     LIFE.  237 

name  was  announced  at  the  door.  Her  dress,  too,  re- 
ceived more  than  usual  attention,  if  she  were  going  with 
him  to  a  lecture,  or  a  concert ;  and  she  often  watched  his 
every  look,  and  listened  to  the  accents  of  his  voice  as 
though  her  very  existence  depended  upon  them.  It  was 
curious  to  mark  the'  change  that  love  had  produced  in 
the  proud,  self-respecting  girl,  and  it  seemed  strange  that 
she  could  not  rest  calmly  in  the  consciousness  of  his 
love. 

And  he,  the  favored  one,  who  among  so  many  com- 
petitors had  secured  the  prize,  how  did  he  bear  this  vic- 
tory ?     He  certainly  manifested  none  of  that  restless  ex- 
citement so  observable  in  his  fair  lady-love ;   indeed  he 
seemed  almost  too  calm  and  self-possessed  for  a  newly- 
accepted  lover,  nor  did  he  single  her  out  in  the  presence 
of  other  ladies  by  any  exclusive  attentions — he  is  too  gen- 
tlemanly for  that,  Fanny  thought — but  he  certainly  did 
appear  to  enjoy  her  society  exceedingly,  and  found  some 
excuse  for  calling  at  the  house  every  day.     Then,  too,  he 
was  always  contriving  long  walks  of  rides  into  the  coun- 
try, on  purpose,  as  Fanny  thought,  to  secure  her  company 
a  little  while  to  himself.     If  this  was  his  object,  he  had 
great  reason  to  be  grateful  to  Fanny  for  her  exertions  in 
his  behalf.      She  puzzled  her  brains  to  find  ways    and 
means  by  which  they  might  now  and  then  be  left  together. 
If  they  were  walking  she  always  contrived  to  draw  Nanny 
a  little  in  front,  or  at  home,  found  some  urgent  excuse  for 
leaving  the  parlor.     She  often  thought  he  gazed  proudly 
at  Julia,  as  she  crossed  the  room ;  and  once  when  they 
were  going  to  a  party,  and  Fanny  was  arranging  some 
white  rose-buds  in  her  hair,  she  looked  up  suddenly,  and 
caught  such  a  look  of  tenderness  and  admiration  in  his 
eyes,  that  though  she  knew  it  was  intended  for  another, 
its  very  warmth  brought  the  color  to  her  own  cheek. 


238  WESTERN    BORDEK     LIFE 

She  often  wished  that  Julia  would  perm*o  her  to  love 
her,  for  she  longed  to  congratulate  her  upon  her  choice, 
to  whisper  that  she  could  not  fail  to  be  a  happy  woman 
with  such  a  life  companion,  and  this  without  an  idea  that 
such  praises  could  be  misunderstood  or  interpreted  to  ex- 
press any  thing  but  a  disinterested  regard  for  the  person 
to  whom  they  related.  Fanny  was  very  simple-hearted, 
and  in  her  humility  feeling  herself  far  removed  from  cousin 
Julia's  sphere,  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  her  evident 
appreciation  of  Mr.  Chester's  merits  could  excite  anything 
like  jealousy  in  her  fair  hostess's  breast.  But  ccusin  Julia 
gave  her  no  opportunity  to  express  any  of  these  feelings, 
avoiding  all  intimacy,  and  giving  her  clearly  to  under- 
stand that  she  was  her  guest,  and  nothing  more. 

"  She  thinks  I  am  '  only  the  teacher,'  I  suppose,"  thought 
Fanny.  "  O  dear!"  and  she  strove  to  bear  the  slight  as 
well  as  she  could. 

With  Mr.  Chester,  on  the  contrary,  she  was  upon  the 
best  of  terms.  He  had  always  treated  her  with  consider- 
ation and  kindness,  not  less  now,  when  -surrounded  by 
beauty  and  fashion  she  made  but  one  of  a  brilliant  circle, 
than  when,  thrown  together  in  the  solitude  of  her  prairie 
home,  they  held  long  talks  together  by  the  Christmas  fire. 
He  seemed  to  take  a  pleasure  in  drawing  out  her  ideas 
upon  various  subjects,  treating  the  opinions  she  advanced 
with  respect,  and  explaining  his  own  in  return.  Their 
long  talks  were  resumed,  and  many  a  pleasant  hour  was 
spent — Fanny  seated  upon  the  corner  of  the  sofa,  working 
upon  some  crotchet-mats,  to  be  carried  home  to  Mrs.  Cat- 
lett  as  a  present,  and  Harry  Chester  beside  her,  engaged 
in  some  animated  discussion. 

Any  body  but  our  simple,  unsuspecting  little  Fanny, 
.could  have  seen  that  these  talks  were  not  pleasing  to 
Julia,  who  occasionally  tried  to  break  them  up,  and  trans- 


CITY     LIFE.  239 

for  the  gentleman's  services  to  herself  for  the  rest  of  the 
evening.  It  happened  frequently,  however,  that  some 
other  admirer  claimed  her  exclusive  attention,  arid  Fanny 
and  Mr.  Chester  found  themselves  in  some  quiet  corner 
for  the  hour  together.  Fanny  made  no  attempt  to  con- 
ceal the  pleasure  she  felt  in  these  interviews.  She  had 
been  so  long  deprived  of  intelligent  society,  that  she 
prized  it  exceedingly,  and  felt  very  grateful  to  Mr.  Chester 
for  taking  so  much  pains  to  amuse  her,  even  giving  up  the 
pleasure  of  cousin  Julia's  society  at  times,  to  sit  by  poor 
little  her  on  the  sofa,  and  talk. 

Harry  Chester  was  a  very  self-sacrificing  young  man  f 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

THE    PATRIARCHAL    INSTITUTION    IN    K  A  tf  Z  A  ft, 

"  Miss  FANNY,  what  do  you  suppose  Dave  is  about  to- 
day 1"'  said  Nanny,  as  the  two  young  ladies  sat  together 
at  work.  "I  wonder  how  he  likes  his  new  farm.  Plant- 
ing time  is  most  over,  and  if  it 's  as  pretty  a  place  as  he 
says,  it  must  be  right  pleasant  there.  How  mighty  smart 
he  feels  to  be  a  man,  all  set  up  for  life  at  eighteen.  Only 
think  of  it !  Our  Dave  !" 

"I  wish  we  could  peep  in  upon  them  some  day,  and 
see  the  young  massa,  with  Uncle  Tim,  and  Aunt  Adeline, 
and  Jinny.  Quite  a  snug  little  establishment  they  must 
have  over  in  the  wilds  of  Kanzas,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Well,  Miss  Fanny,  who  knows  but  that  we  may.  Pa 
said  he  thought  it  would  be  a  grand  idea  to  go  over  there 
after  harvesting  and  make  Dave  a  visit.  You  know  after 
the  hot  weather,  it  '-s  right  unhealthy  on  the  prairie,  and 
we  might  scare  off  the  chills  and  fever,  by  goin'  to  a  new 
place  for  a  while." 

"  What !  all  of  us,  Nanny  ?  Your  mother  and  the  chil- 
dren and  all " 

"Well,  not  the  youngest,  mebbe,  but  ma,  and  you  arid 
I,  and  one  or  two  of  the  others.  Ma  says  'Ria  could  keep 
house  for  two  or  three  weeks.  She  wants  her  to  learn 
how." 


T  U  E    P  A  T  K  I  A  R  C  II  A  L     INSTITUTION.  241 

"  Well,  that  is  an  idea !  Where  could  D^ve  put  us  all  ? 
There  can't  be  room  in  his  little  cabin." 

"  Pa  said  there  might  be  one  built  hard  by,  on  purpose 
for  us.  You  know  it  need  n't  be  put  up  very  tight,  for  ii 
will  be  warm  weather  anyhow.  They  want  another,  too; 
for  pa  says  the  place  is  n't  half  worked,  with  only  two 
men;  and  just  as  quick  as  he  can  spare  another  hand,  he 
means  to  send  Uncle  Charles  over,  I  expect  Dave  will 
have  all  the  best  hands  before  he  gets  through.  He  al- 
ways was  put  above  the  other  children,  anyhow.  But 
should  n't  you  like  to  go,  Miss  Fanny  ?  I  think  it  would 
be  real  fun." 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  a  taste  of  the  wild  life  one  must 
lead  over  there.  But,  Nanny,  how  shall  we  get  along 
with  the  mysterious  proceedings — the  whizzing  bullets, 
the  strange  noises,  and  all  the  other  disturbances.  Your 
mother  is  terribly  afraid  of  ghosts." 

"  O,  Miss  Fanny,  you  don't  think  it 's  ghosts,  do  you 
really,  now?" 

"  Not  I.  It  may  be  the  spirits,  though,  that  tip  tables, 
and  pinch  fingers,  and  carry  on  generally  in  these  days. 
Hey,  Nanny  ?" 

"  You  are  joking,  Miss  Fanny,  ain't  you,  now  ?" 

"Yes,  Nanny,  depend  upon  it,  it's  folks  in  the  flesh, 
good,  solid,  substantial  spirits,  like  ourselves.  I  should  n't 
wonder — " 

"Wonder  what?" 

"Well,  never  mind,  I  guess  I  won't  say  what  I  was 
going  to." 

"  O,  yes." 

"  Not  now,  Nanny,  not  now." 

Possibly  the  reader  is  as  curious  to  know  about  Dave  in 
his  border  life  in  Kanzas,  as  Nanny  and  Fanny.  We  have 
left  him  there  ever  since  the  Christmas  holidays,  and  the 

11 


242  WESTERN     B  O  K  D  E  R     LIFE. 

spring  has  come,  and  planting  time  most  over.  So  let  us 
trip  it  from  St.  Louis  over,  and  while  the  girls  are  still 
talking  about  him,  we  will  see  what  he  is  about. 

"Tim,  you  '11  have  to  plant  that  corn  over  again.  The 
rascals  have  pulled  up  every  blade  as  sure  as  the  world. 
What  a  torment  to  live 'in  this  cursed  hole.  I  swear 
there's  no  use  in  tryin'  to  do  any  thing." 

Dave  was  leaning  on  his  gun,  under  the  big  oak  to 
which  the  claim  had  first  been  nailed,  while  Uncle  Tim 
was  squatted  upon  the  grass  near  by,  mending  a  harness. 

"  Lors  a'  massy !  Mass'  Dave,  you  don't  mean  to  say 
dat  ar  corn  all  pulled  up,  arter  we  's  waited  so  long  to  hab 
him  sprout.  Well,  if  dese  carryin's  on  don't  beat  dis  nig- 
ger anyhow." 

"  And,  Tim,  I  'in  goin'  off  to  the  woods  ;  sha'n't  be  home 
much  before  night,  I  reckon.  You  and  Jerry  better  go 
right  at  that  patch  of  corn.  Let  old  Poke  Neck's  harness 
atone.  The  old  man  will  be  hoppin',  if  we  don't  have  a 
good  crop  of  corn." 

"  Well,  Massa  Dave,  jest  keep  out  of  dem  traps,  dat's 
all.  Golly !  I  reckon  massa  did  n't  find  it  de  nicest  ting 
to  get  cotched  and  held  fast  by  de  leg  all  day*.  Might 
hab  been  dar  yet,  if  Uncle  Tim  had  n't  come  along." 

;c  Confound  it !"  says  Dave,  soliloquizing ;  "  if  I  could 
catch  the  scoundrels,  would  n't  I  whiz  a  little  cold  lead 
through  'em.  I  wish,  if  the  old  man  thinks  it 's  such  a 
prime  place,  he  'd  come  over  and  try  it  himself.  Hang 
.me! -if  I  don't  think  the  devil's  here  in  bodily  shape. 
Adeline,  she  says  she 's  seen  a  woman  skulkin'  round ; 
but  blast  me  !  it  ain't  no  woman." 

To  complete  the  series  of  Dave's  misfortunes,  Uncle 
Tim  the  next  day  came  home  from  the  field  sick,  and  be- 
fore night  was  in  a  raging  fever.  There  was  no  doctor 
for  twenty  miles  about,  and  Dave,  who  had  never  been 


THE     PATKIAKC  H  A  L     INSTITUTION.  243 

eick  in  his  life,  was  not  competent  to  nurse  an  ailing  cat. 
The  women,  too,  were  but  indifferent  nurses,  and  poor 
Tim  might  have  suffered  for  want  of  proper  attention, 
had  not  his  faithful  wife  been  near  at  hand.  When  his 
young  master  stepped  into  the  cabin  where  Uncle  Tim 
lay,  the  poor  fellow  opened  his  eyes  and  begged  so  pite- 
ously  for  his  wife,  that  Dave  dispatched  a  messenger  at 
once  to  Madam  Gamby's  claim,  to  fetch  her  over. 

Madam  Gamby,  who  all  through  planting,  had  divided 
her  time  between  her  farms  in  Missouri  and  Kanzas,  hap- 
pened just  now  to  be  spending  a  few  days  in  the  latter 
place.  Lina  was  allowed  to  come,  and  with  an  anxious 
heart  hastened  to  her  sick  husband,  and  after  watching  by 
him  all  night,  returned  early  in  the  morning  to  her  daily 
toil.  This  went  on  for  two  or  three  days,  Tim  continuing 
very  sick,  until  one  evening  Lina  presented  herself  at  the 
door  of  the  house,  with  her  apron  at  her  eyes. 

"I  wants  to  see  de  young  massa,"  she  said  to  one  of  the 
servants. 

u  Mass'  Dave  's  out  yonder  in  de  hen-house.  Sit  down 
a  crack,  can't  ye  ?"  said  Adeline,  kindly.  "  You  look 
clear  tuckered  out.  Is  Uncle  Tim  worse  to-night?" 

"  I  don'no,"  said  Lina,  "  I  hain't  seen  him.  Miss  Betsy 
say  she  can't  spare  me  no  more  nights,  'cause  I  ain't  fit  for 
nothin'  days.  How  ken  I  be,  and  he  lyin'  so  bad  sick  ?" 

"  She  !"  said  Adeline,  indignantly,  u  so  mighty  stingy, 
I  reckon  you've  arnt  her  enough  to  make  it  all  up  if  she 
give  yer  a  week  to  wait  on  yer  ole  man." 

"  She  never  gives  nothin'  to  nobody,  Adeline,"  said 
Lina,  "  She  says  Massa  Dave  here  ken  hire  me  if  he  will, 
She  's  sent  me  over  with  a  billet  to  him." 

"  O,  lors !  I  don't  reckon  he  will !"  said  Adeline, 
thoughtlessly,  and  then  seeing  the  grief  her  words  had 
given  the  poo"  girl,  she  tried  to  take  them  back. 


244  W  E  S  T  E  R  N     B  O  R  D  E  R     LIFE. 

"  Well,  mebbe  he  will,"  she  said.  "  He  's  mighty  good- 
natured  times." 

"  O  !  what  shall  I  do  if  he  won't  ?"  said  Lina.  Adeline 
could  think  of  nothing  comforting  to  say,  and  they  sat  in 
sorrowful  silence  till  the  young  man  came  in,  when  Lina 
timidly  presented  her  note. 

u  What 's  this  ?"  said  Dave,  when  he  had  finished  it. 
u  Hire  another  hand,  when  we've  got  more  than  we  know 
what  to  do  with  now  !  Nonsense  !  What  is  the  woman 
thinkin'  of?  No,  no,  she  can't  rnake^a  clean  penny  out 
of  us  that  way.  Tell  your  mistress,  I  'm  obliged  to  her, 
Lina,  but  I  could  n't  think  of  hirin'  any  more  just  now." 

"  Massa,  you  sha'n't  lose  nothin'  by  it  if  you  only  will," 
said  Lina,  in  a  trembling  voice.  "  I 's  a  beautiful  sewer,  I 
is ;  every  body  says  so,  and  I  '11  make  it  up  to  you,  sure. 
I  '11  work  nights  after  my  ole  man  gets  better ;  O  he  wants 
me  so  bad  !  Do,  Mass'  Dave." 

"  If  Mass'  Dave  would  now,"  said  Adeline,  "Uncle  Tirn 
calls  for  her  all  day  long." 

"  Madam  Gamby  is  a  heap  better  able  to  spare  you  two 
or  three  days  for  nothin',  than  I  am  to  hire  you.  You 
must  go  to  her,  girl.  I  can't  do  any  thing  for  you,  except  to 
see  that  Uncle  Tim  has  good  care,  and  that  I  look  out  for. 
I  give  up  all  Jinny's  time  to  him,  and  she  makes  quite  a 
decent  nurse,  besides  goin'  in  myself  two  or  three  times 
a  day.  You  ought  to  be  satisfied  wit^i  that." 

"But  Miss_  Betty  say  I  mustn't  come  no  more  nights, 
'cause  I  can't  work  de  next  day  so  fast.  O,  dear,  I  sha'n't 
see  him  at  all !" 

"  You  must  go  to  your  mistress,  girl.  I  know  of  no 
other  way,"  said  Dave,  coldly. 

Lina  turned  away  sobbing,  as  though  her  heart  would 
creak. 

"  Lina,"  said  Adeline,  kindly,  and  a  detaining  hand  waa 
laid  upon  her  arm,  "  don't  feel  so  bad  about  it.  We  '11 


THE    PATRIARCHAL    INSTITUTION.  245 

take  good  care  ob  Uncle  Tim.  He  sha'n't  want  for  noth- 
in', and  Jinny  or  me  '11  come  over  ebery  night  and  let  you 
know  how  he  comes  on." 

"  Lord  bless  you,  Ad.,"  said  Lina,  "  but  dar  can't 
nobody  do  for  him  like  me.  It  don't  make  no  odds  how 
much  he  's  out ;  he  always  knows  when  Lina  's  round.  O, 
dear!  it  ain't  right,  no  ways,  to  keep  husband  and  wife 
apart  dis  way.  Is  it  ?" 

"Well,  dar's  one  ting,  Lina ;  Tim  's  in  de  good  Lord's 
hands,  and  I  reckon  he  '11  take  care  ob  him.  Can't  you 
make  dat  ar  a  comfort,  girl  ?" 

"  De  good  Lord  helpin'  me,  I  will ;"  and  Adeline  heard 
her  ejaculating  as  she  crossed  the  yard,  "  O,  Lord,  take 
care  of  him !  Do,  Lord  !  do  !" 

"  That 's  just  like  old  Madam  Gamby,"  said  Dave,  when 
Lina  was  out  of  hearing.  "  She  's  always  in  a  strain  to  get 
somethin'  extra  out  of  her  gang.  She  could  spare  Lina 
as  well  as  not,  before  the  busy  season  began,  and  she 
reckoned  I  'd  do  it,  'cause  Tim  is  such  a  good  servant." 

"  Well,  Mass'  Dave,  I  could  n't  keep  from  feelin'  sorry 
for  Liny,  noways,"  said  Adeline,  who  having  nursed  Dave 
when  a  baby,  was  allowed  some  liberty  of  speech.  "  She 
wants  to  see  Uncle  Tim  so  bad ;  and  she  takes  such 
mighty  good  care  ob  him,  too.  'Pears  like  she  'd  mos'  go 
'stracted  over  it." 

"  She  '11  see  him  fast  enough,  Ad.,  don't  you  fret.  Marm 
Gamby  can't  keep  that  girl  home  nights,  I  '11  be  bound." 

"  Don't  you  b'lieve  dat,  massa.  Madam  Gamby,  she  's 
gotten  a  way  with  her,  of  pryin'  round,  and  keepin'  track 
of  'em  all,  dat  makes  'em  as  'fraid  ob  her  as  def.  O ! 
Mass'  Dave,  dar  don't  nothin'  go  right  on  dis  yer  place. 
De  pot  biles  over  ebery  day,  and  Othor,  he  died,  and  den 
dem  little  shoats,  and  now  Uncle  Tim,  he's  got  de  fever. 
Lors,  Mass'  Dave,  dar  won't  nothin'  come  straight,  till  w<* 
make  tracks  for  de  prairie," 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

IHK  GERM  OF  DISASTER  IN  THE  FAMILY. 

BEFORE  we  return  to  St.  Louis,  let  us  look  in  upon  them 
at  La  Belle  Prairie.  All  day  Mr.  Catlett  was  off  with  the 
men,  superintending  the  sowing  of  great  fields  of  corn, 
plowing  up  the  new  ground,  and  setting  out  the  young 
tobacco-plants.  In  the  garden,  Mrs.  Catlett  was  equally 
busy,  and  with  skirts  tucked  up  to  her  knees,  and  a  large 
sun-bonnet  shading  her  features,  she  traversed  the  walks, 
keeping  a  sharp  look-out  upon  the  groups  of  women  under 
her  charge. 

All  the  house  servants  who  could  be  spared,  were  kept 
for  several  days  hard  at  work,  hoeing,  raking,  and  prepar- 
ing the  beds  for  seed,  while  the  younger  portion  of  the 
household  were  employed  in  running  hither  and  thither 
as  general  waiters  to  all. 

"  Miss  Car'line  kinder  curis,  any  how,"  said  Viny  one 
day  when  her  mistress  was  at  a  safe  distance ;  "  but  lors! 
if  you  wrant  to  sge  de  wool  fly,  come  here  'bout  plantin' 
time,  dat's  all.  Dar  can't  nobody  do  nothin'  right  den." 

Viny  was  not  far  out  of  the  way.  The  lady's  additional 
cares  brought  with  them  an  increase  of  fretfulness  and  ill- 
humor,  that  made  her  more  unreasonable  than  ever.  One 
day  everything  had  gone  wrong.  The  turkeys  scratched 
up  her  young  lettuce-plants,  the  bag  of  cymbling-seeda 
could  not  be  found,  and  finally,  by  an  unlucky  push,  she 


GERAI     OF    DISASTER    IN    THE     FAMILY.      247 

Bent  black  Jake  sprawling  at  full  length  over  a  newly- 
planted  bed  of  cucumbers,  where  the  urchin  lay  for  a  mo- 
ment in  speechless  amazement,  his  legs  and  arms  extended 
like  a 'frog,  and  his  open  mouth  full  of  sand.  This  last 
disaster  capped  the  climax,  and  throwing  down  her  box 
of  seeds,  Mrs.  Catlett  gave  vent  to  her  excited  feelings  in 
a  torrent  of  angry  complaints  against  black  servants  in 
general,  and  her  own  tribe  in  particular.  In  the  midst  of 
her  tirade,  little  Dinah  came  running  up  the  garden  walk, 
shouting  as  she  approached, 

"  O,  Miss  Car'line !  Miss  Car'line !  Come  up  yonder 
quick.  Dat  ar'  Tilla  done  got  a  fit,  fall  clar  'way  down  de 
new  room  stars." 

"Who?  What?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  but  half  under 
standing  the  sudden  announcement ;  but  before  it  could 
be  repeated,  the  girl  Martha,  who  was  working  near, 
sprang  past  her  with  one  bound,  and  was  hastening  to- 
ward the  house,  when  her  mistress's  voice  called  her 
back. 

"  Here,  you !  Come  back  this  instant.  Who  told  you 
to  quit  work  ?" 

"  O,  Miss  Car'line  !  Let  me.  It 's  Tilla  !  She  's  done 
hurt  herse'f !  'Deed  I  mus'  go !"  said  the  girl,  turning 
again  toward  the  house. 

It  was  a  step  toward  rebellion  that  Mrs.  Catlett  would 
not  suffer. 

"Don't  tell  me  you  must,"  she  said,  angrily.  "Stay 
where  you  are  and  mind  your  work  till  I  come  back." 

Martha  looked  after  her  a  moment,  as  she  hastened  up 
the  walk.  There  was  a  rebellious  tire  in  her  eyes,  and  she 
took  a  step  or  two  forward,  but  the  habit  of  submissive 
obedience  was  too  powerful  to  be  resisted,  and  with  a 
deep  sigh  she  resumed  her  work. 

"  Never  mind,  Marthy,"  said  Aunt  Patsey,  leaving  her 


248  WESTER N     BORDER     LIFE. 

own  work  a  moment  to  say  a  comforting  word,  "  mebbe 
she  ain't  bad  hurt.  Dat  ar  Dinah  allers  tells  big  stories." 

"  O,  Patsey,  I  trembles  all  ober,"  said  Marthy,  u  I  so 
afeard  for  her.  If  Miss  Car'line  would  let  me  go  thar." 

"  Well,  mebbe  she  will,  when  she  comes  back.  Least- 
ways 't  ain't  far  to  night,  you  know." 

Poor  Martha  watched  for  her  mistress's  return  with 
trembling  eagerness,  and  when  at  last  she  appeared,  in- 
quired sc  anxiously  after  her  sister,  and  begged  so  hum- 
bly to  go  to  her,  were  it  only  for  five  minutes,  that  had 
Mrs.  Catlett  been  in  any  other  mood,  she  must  have  con- 
sented. 

But  she  was  irritated  at  the  girl  for  attempting  to  go 
without  her  consent,  vexed  at  the  interruption,  and  men- 
tally determined  to  punish  her  for  her  rebellion. 

"  No,  you  can't  go,"  she  said  sharply,  "  so  you  may  just 
keep  on  with  your  work.  The  brat 's  well  enough.  She 
tumbled  down  stairs,  and  hurt  herself  a  trifle,  that 's  all. 
Aunt  Phebe  's  got  her  down  there  docterin'  her  up.  She  '11 
be  well  enough  in  an  hour  or  two." 

And  so  the  poor  soul,  with  dizzy  head  and  aching  heart, 
went  on  with  her  toil.  She  scarcely  heard  the  reproofs 
she  brought  upon  herself,  by  the  careless  manner  in  which 
her  task  was  performed.  She  thought  only  of  poor  Tilla 
lying  sick  and  suffering  so  near  her,  and  she  strained  her 
ears  to  catch  the  first  blast  of  the  horn  that  called  the 
men  from  their  work,  and  put  an  end  to  the  day's  labor. 
At  last,  when  the  sun  appeared  to  touch  the  edge  of  the 
prairie,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  blossoms  on  the  trees 
grew  sweeter,  as  the  night-dew  kissed  their  petals,  when 
the  frogs  began  their  evening  song,  and  big  William's 
voice  was  heard  on  the  prairie,  calling  home  the  cattle, 
then  the  welcome  sound  was  heard,  and  shouldering  their 
rakes  and  hoes,  the  women  walked  slowly  to  the  house. 


GERM    OF    DISASTER    IN    THE    FAMILY.      245 

Would  Miss  Car'line  release  her  now,  or  must  she  work 
on  another  long  hour,  in  dizzy,  sickening  dread  ?  Martha 
looked  anxiously  in  her  mistress's  face,  but  saw  nothing 
there  to  lead  her  to  hope  that  she  would  be  excused  from 
her  usual  round  of  house-duties.  She  dared  not  make  the 
request,  but  hastened  to  draw  out  the  long  table  and  pre- 
pare it  for  the  evening  meal.  To  her  whispered  inquiries 
about  the  accident,  the  little  ones  told  her  all  that  they 
knew.  "  Tilla  was  toatin'  Miss  Hetty  up  de  new  room 
stais.  Miss  Hetty  she  got  mad  'cause  Tilla  set  her  down 
to  rest,  and  she  crack  her  so  hard,  she  tumble  ober  and 
ober  clar  way  down  to  de  bottom.  She  lay  dar  in  a  fit 
till  Miss  'Ria  pick  her  up,  an'  now  she  down  to  Aunt 
Phebe's.  Aunt  Phebe  say  she  ain't  nigh  so  bad  as  she 
was." 

And  so  the  poor  soul  worked  on,  a  little  more  hope- 
fully, beguiling  the  time  by  picturing  to  herself  the  pleas- 
ant evening  they  would  spend  together,  by  Aunt  Phebe's 
fire  ;  Tilla  released  for  one  night  from  her  duty  of  rocking 
Miss  Hetty  to  sleep,  and  the  babies  all  packed  off  to  their 
mother's  cabins.  She  had  almost  forgotten  her  fears  in 
these  delightful  anticipations,  but  only  to  have  them  come 
back  to  her  heart  with  a  quick,  sudden  pang,  as  Aunt  Pat- 
sey  entered  the  room.  Patsey  had  her  own  particular 
duties  to  attend  to  out  of  doors,  and  never  appeared  in 
the  house  at  this  hour.  What  brought  her  here  now,  and 
why  did  she  steal  so  softly  behind  her  mistress's  chair,  with 
such  a  sad  mysterious  face  ?" 

Two  little  words  explained  it  all.  Words  whispered  so 
tow,  as  scarcely  to  be  heard  by  the  person  addressed,  but 
falling  with  fearful  distinctness  upon  another's  ear.  With 
one  agonized  cry  they  were  echoed — 

"Tilla  dead!" 

A  moment  after,. the  door  of  Aunt  Phebe's  cabin  was 

11* 


250  WESTERN    BORDER     LIFE. 

flung  violently  open,  and  Martha  sprang  in.  The  firo 
flashed  with  sudden  brightness  as  she  entered,  lighting 
up  a  group  of  children  huddled  together  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  and  the  figure  of  the  old  woman  busily  employed 
about  something  at  the  bed-side.  The  girl  pushed  her 
rudely  aside,  and  taking  her  place,  stood  gazing  silently 
at  the  dead  child.  There  was  no  room  for  doubt.  Death 
was  stamped  upon  every  feature.  The  face  wore  the 
same  look  of  suffering  it  had  borne  in  life,  but  the  teeth 
were  set,  and  the  hands  clenched  as  in  the  last  struggle. 

The  little  worn-out  frame  was  at  rest,  "  earth  was  past," 
and  it  was  "well  with  the  child,"  but  woe  to  that  heart, 
whether  it  beat  in  the  breast  of  a  monarch,  or  slave,  which 
having  but  one  object  in  the  wide  world  to  lose,  wakea 
some  day  to  find  its  idol  cold  and  motionless  in  death. 

There  was  perfect  stillness  in  the  low  cabin.  The 
mourner's  grief  seemed  too  intense  for  any  outward  ex- 
pression of  feeling.  The  poor  stricken  heart  could  find 
neither  tear,  nor  cry  to  show  its  agony.  As  in  nature,  the 
calm  that  sometimes  precedes  a  tempest,  is  more  frightful 
and  oppressive  than  the  storm  itself,  so  was  it  with  that 
silent  anguish.  To  Aunt  Phebe,  who  watched  the  poor 
girl,  as  she  stood  motionless  and  stupefied  beside  her  dead 
sister,  it  was  a  relief  wlien  the  flood-gates  of  sorrow  were 
opened,  and  her  grief  found  vent  in  tears,  and  sobs,  and 
broken  ejaculations. 

"  Let  me  !  let  me !"  she  said  to  Aunt  Phebe's  attempts 
at  consolation,  "  't  ain't  for  long.  O,  Tilla !  Tilla !  Don't 
you  hear  me  callin'  to  you  ?  wake  up,  and  speak  to  me 
just  dis  once  !  O,  lors,  she 's  dead  !  she  is  !  and  I  '11  neber 
gee  her  again !" 

"Dar,  now,  honey,  you  hush  up,"  said  Aunt  Phebe. 
u  De  good  Lord  he  want  Tilla  up  yonder.  He  '11  make 
her  a  bright  angel  in  glory  !  link  ob  dat,  honey  !" 


GERM    OF    DISASTER    IN    THE    FAMILY.      251 

"I  knows  it,  Aunty — I  knows  she's  heaps  better  off  I 
She  's  got  shet  ob  all  her  misery  now ;  but  O  lors,  dar 
ain't  nothin'  lef  for  me  !  nothin' !  nothin' !  O,  Tilla !  I 
wish  I 's  dead  too  !  I  do  !  I  do  !" 

"  No,  no,  honey,  don't  you  talk  dat  way.  We  's  all  got 
mighty  little  time  to  lib  anyhow.  You  must  n't  hurry  de 
Lord  Almighty.  Dar's  a  work  for  ye  here,  Marthy.  Your 
poor  chil'  dat  was  sick,  and  achin',  she  got  through.  De 
Lord  tuck  her  up  to  glory,  whar  she  '11  neber  feel  no  more 
pain,  nor  sick,  and  de  bressed  Jesus,  He'll  wipe  all  de  tears 
away.  O  !  when  de  time  comes  we  '11  all  be  mighty  glad 
to  get  dar.  'Pears  like  I  could  n't  wait,  times,  but 
Marthy,  dars  somefin  to  do  to  get  ready.  Do  you  tink  of 
dat,  when  yer  talks  dat  way  ?" 

The  girl  had  sunk  upon  her  knees  by  the  bed-side  and 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"  Marthy,"  said  Aunt  Phebe,  solemnly,  "  long  time 
back,  when  ole  missus,  down  dar  in  Yirginny,  sold  away 
niy  two  babies,  I  felt  like  you  do.  Dar  did  n't  'pear  tfc 
be  nothin'  lef  ;  'pears  like  I  went  crazy  times,  and  did  n't 
b'lieve  in  no  God,  nor  no  heaben,  nor  nuffin.  O,  Marthy, 
den  dar  come  a  voice  to  me  sayin'  Phebe!  Phebe!  call  on 
de  Lord  !  And  I  did,  Marthy,  and  dat  ar  brc  ught  in  do 
light.  I  giv'  my  precious  babies  right  up  to  Him,  and  He 
showed  me  't  was  all  a  comin'  out  right,  for  yer  see  if  dem 
babies  had  been  lef*  to  me,  ole  Phebe  would  lub  dis  poor 
sinful  world  a  heap  too  well.  Now  dar  aint  nuffin  left  but 
de  Lord  ;  and  O,  Marthy,  He 's  ebery  ting  !  ebery  ting ! 
De  Lord  He  gibs,  and  He  takes  away;  can't  yer  say 
Praise  His  name  ?" 

"Aunt  Phebe,"  said  the  girl  suddenly,  raising  her  head, 
"  it  don't  'pear  like  God  Almighty  wanted  Tilla  to  die.  I 
don't  b'lieve  He  had  de  fus  ting  to  do  wid  it !  not  de  fui 
ting !  Dar's  odder  folks  got  to  'count  for  it !  and  OA 


252  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

aunty,  I  spec'  1  's  dreadful  wicked,  but  I  3oes  wish  dey 
could  go  to  torment  for  it." 

"  When  we's  got  our  own  badness  clean  wiped  away, 
Marthy,"  said  the  old  woman,  solemnly,  "  dar  '11  be  time 
nuff  to  tink  'bout  odder  people's.  Torment's  a  drefful 
place,  chil'en !  a  drefful  place !  You  all  keep  out  oh 
it." 

"  Yon  's  Miss  Car'line,"  said  little  Dinah,  as  the  lady  e& 
tered  through  the  open  door. 

Mrs.  Catlett's  face  wore  a  softer  expression,  and  she 
spoke  in  a  kind  tone. 

"  Marthy,"  she  said,  as  she  approached  the  bed,  "  I  'm 
mighty  sorry.  I  had  n't  the  least  idea  the  child  was  so 
bad,  or  I  'd  have  let  you  seen  her." 

"  It  don't  make  no  odds  now,"  said  the  girl,  in  a  cold, 
dry  tone. 

"  I  never  once  thought  of  her  dyin',"  said  Mrs.  Catlett, 
speaking  to  Aunt  Phebe.  "  She  dropped  off  wonderful 
sudden,  though  she  was  always  an  ailin',  weakly  kind  of  a 
child.  There!  there!  Marthy,  don't  take  on  so.  We  all 
feel  sorry  for  you,  but  it  ain't  no  use  frettin'.  You  must 
try  to  be  resigned." 

"  How  ken  I  ?  O  Tilla,  Tilla !"  said  the  girl,  sobbing 
passionately. 

"  Well,  I  'm  sure  I  'm  sorry  for  you,  Marthy,  but  it 
won't  do  no  good  to  fret  so  about  it.  Come,  don't  cry 
any  more." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Car'line,"  said  Martha,  turning  full  upon 
her  mistress,  "I  'm  thinkin'  how  one  ob  dem  kind  words 
would  hab  warmed  her  poor  heart,  dat  was  froze  up  for 
want  ob  lub  and  kindness.  Oh,  Miss  Car'line,  you  need  n't 
a  be  good  to  me.  It  only  jest  breaks  my  heart ;  when 
I  'd  hab  gone  down  on  my  knees  to  bless^yer  for  one  little 
for  poor  Till/0-,  dat  was  pinin'  away  for  de  lack  Oh, 


GERM    OF    DISASTER    IN    THE    FAMILY.       253 

lors !  it  ain't  no  use  now.     She  '11  neber  hear  no  hard 
words  agin." 

"JT  never  was  hard  on  the  child,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  in  a 
more  natural,  because  a  sharper  tone.  "  She  never  got 
any  hard  words  from  me,  if  that 's  what  you  mean ;  and 
Marthy,  I  hope  you  won't  forget  who  you  are  speaking  to 
if  you  do  feel  bad." 

"I's  done,  Miss  Car'li^o,"  said  Martha,  in  a  calmei 
tone ;  and  wiping  her  eyer  with  her  apron,  she  sat  down 
quietly  by  the  bed-side. 

When  Mrs.  Catlett  had  given  the  necessary  direction? 
about  the  child's  burial,  she  left  the  cabin,  and  black  Viny 
and  another  sympathizing  servant  crept  silently  away. 

All  this  while  the  children,  unnoticed  and  uncared  for, 
sat  huddled  together  in  the  warm  chimney  corner.  The 
fire  had  burned  down  to  a  huge  bed  of  glowing  embers, 
which  cast  a  ruddy  glow  upon  their  dark  faces  and  shining 
eyes,  but  threw  the  further  part  of  the  room  into  deep 
shadow.  T\vo  little  urchins  had  fallen  asleep,  drowsiness 
overcoming  their  curiosity,  and  their  regular  breathing 
mingled  with  the  sighing  of  the  wind  in  the  chimney. 

"Jake,  oh,  Jake,"  said  Dinah,  almost  below  her  breath, 
and  casting  a  frightened  look  at  the  dark  shadows  in  the 
corners  of  the  room.  "Does  yer  hear  de  wind  blow?" 

Jake  nodded  assent. 

"What  make  him  howl  roun'  dis  yer  house  so  to-night, 
hey  ?"  said  Dinah. 

"  Don  no,"  said  Jake,  shaking  his  head,  and  rolling  up 
his  eyes. 

"1  does,"  said  Dinah.  "I  heerd  Mr.  Turner's  Chloe 
tellin'  all  about  it.  Yer  see  when  good  folks  die,  reel 
pious  folks,  yer  know,  like  Aunt  Phebe,  den  you  hear  de 
south  wind  blow  soft.  Dat  's  de  good  angels  come  to 
toat  de  soul,  clar  away  up  to  glory,  way  up  inter  de  high 


254  WESTERN    BOKDER    LIFE. 

blue  ;  and  de  wind  is  de  music  dar  wings  make  when  dey 
fly." 

"  Lors,  now  is  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  when  de  wind  howl  roun'  de  house  like  he 
do  now,  dat  de  '  big  black  man'  chasin'  de  bad  soul  roun' 
an'  roun',  and  by-'n-by  he  cotch  it,  and  toat  it  clar  down 
ter  torment.  Does  yer  hear  him  now  ?;' 

"  Oh,  Dinah,"  said  Jake,  his  teeth  chattering  with  fear, 
"  does  yer  reckon  he  '11  done  cotch  Tilla's  soul  dis  yer 
night  ?" 

"  Well,  nig,  I  spec'  he  will,"  said  Dinah  solemnly. 
"  Dar  was  allers  heaps  o'  badness  in  dat  ar  Tilla.  And 
dey  do  say,  Jake,  he  likes  little  niggers'  souls  de  best. 
Mass'  Jack  he  tell  Uncle  Joe  one  day,  dat  niggers  was  all 
ready  for  de  debble  de  fus'  minit  dey  was  born." 

"  Oh,  Dinah,-  ain't  you  scar't  ?" 

"  Hush  up,  now,  dar  's  Aunt  Phebe." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  old  woman,  as  she  approached, 
"  what  yer  doin'  here,  chil'en,  dis  time  o'  night  ?  B  Yer 
oughter  been  in  bed  tree  hours  ago.  Come,  scatter  all 
ob  yer,"  and  administering  two  or  three  pokes  with  her 
cane,  she  quickly  had  them  all  out  of  the  house. 

"  Now,  den,  nigs  run^  said  Dinah,  "  be 's  close  en  to 
yer,  sure,"  and,  taking  to  their  heels,  they  were  soon  lost 
ui  the  darkness. 

We  return  now  to  our  young  ladies  in  St.  Louis, 


CHAPTER    XXV 

JEALOUSY. 

AFTER  one  of  the  evenings  when  Julia  had  been  en- 
gaged with  a  gentleman  visitor,  and  Fanny  and  Mr. 
Chester  had  enjoyed  a  long  talk  on  the  sofa,  the  young 
ladies  were  seated  in  Fanny's  sleeping  apartment,  toasting 
their  feet  before  the  fire,  and  unbraiding  their  tresses, 
preparatory  to  retiring  to  rest. 

"  What  a  tiresome  evening,"  said  Cousin  Julia,  with  a 
yawn.  "  I  have  been  bored  to  death." 

"  Have  you  ?"  said  Fanny,  in  surprise.  "  I  have  enjoyed 
it  exceedingly." 

"  No  doubt,  Miss  Hunter.  We  were  not  all  favored 
with  such  agreeable  company.  Harry  Chester  can  be 
very  pleasant  when  he  chooses." 

"And  did  you  ever  see  him  when  he  didn't  choose?" 
said  Fanny,  with  a  smile. 

"  I  'm  sure  I  can't  tell.  I  see  so  little  of  him  of  late, 
that  I  scarcely  know  whether  he  is  agreeable  or  other- 
wise," said  Julia. 

Fanny  looked  up  in  surprise.  "  Did  I  monopolize  his 
society  this  evening?"  she  said,  innocently.  "I'm  sure  I 
did  n't  mean  to  be  so  selfish." 

Julia  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  Miss  Hunter,"  she  said,  with  the 
least  bit  of  sarcasm  in  her  ton« ;  "  you  are  quite  welcome 


256  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

to  monopolize  his,  01  any  other  gentleman's  society,  that 
you  happen  to  fancy." 

"  Not  if  by  so  doing  I  deprive  some  one  else  who  has  a 
far  better  right,"  said  Fanny,  quite  seriously. 

"  Nonsense,  what  a  solemn  matter  you  make  of  it.  No- 
body insists  on  their  rights  here,  that  I  know  of.  Come, 
Nanny,  you  promised  to  sleep  with  me  to-night,  you  know. 
Good-night,  Miss  Hunter,  pleasant  dreams  to  you." 

"  That  girl  is  a  strange  compound  of  artfulness  and  sim- 
plicity," said  Julia,  when  they  were  alone. 

"  Who !  Miss  Fanny  ?"  said  Nanny,  in  a  tone  of  sur- 
prise. 

"Yes,  this  same  Miss  Fanny,  who  you  all  appear  to 
think  such  a  paragon  of  excellence.  Do  I  astonish  you, 
Nanny  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed.     What  does  make  you  think  so  ?" 

"  Because  I  happen  to  be  a  little  more  observing  than 
the  rest  of  you,  Nanny.  It  is  perfectly  astonishing  to  me 
that  you  should  all  be  so  deceived  in  that  girl.  I  have 
seen  through  her  from  the  very  first." 

"  Why,  Cousin  Julia,  I  think  she  's  just  the  frankest 
creature  I  ever  saw.  I  'm  sure  Uncle  Edward  thinks  so 
too,  for  he  said  something  the  other  day  about  her  being 
so  transparent." 

"  O,  yes,  I  know.  Papa  thinks  she  's  the  sweetccit  little 
innocent  in  the  world.  She  makes  him  believe  black  is 
white,  with  that  honest  face  of  hers;  but  I  tell  you, 
Nanny,  it 's  just  because  she  has  the  art  to  conceal  art. 
Well,  never  mind,  you'll  find  her  out  one  of  these  days/ 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  Cousin  Julia, 
or  what  has  set  you  against  Miss  Fanny  so.  She  likes 
you  mightily,  because  she  said  so  the  other  night." 

Julia  laughed.  "  That's  another  piece  of  art,  Nanny. 
I  happen  to  know  that  she  doesn't  like  me,  because  I 


JEALOUSY.  251 

stand  sadly  in  her  way.  I  only  asked  her  here  out  of 
pity.  Harry  Chester  said  she  was  a  little  young  thing, 
away  from  all  her  friends,  a  poor  minister's  daughter,  or 
something  of  the  sort ;  is  n't  she  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Nanny.  "I  don't  believe  Mr.  Chester 
thinks  there 's  any  thing  out  of  the  way  in  her,  for  he  paid 
her  a  great  deal  of  respect  last  winter.  They  used  to  have 
nice  times  together." 

"  Yes,  I  presume  so,"  said  Julia,  the  color  flashing  into 
her  face.  "  She  understands  perfectly  well  how  to  worm 
herself  into  any  body's  favor,  with  her  innocent,  babyish 
ways.  Gentlemen  are  very  apt  to  be  taken  with  that  af- 
fectation of  simplicity." 

"  I  don't  think  she  tried  one  bit,  Cousin  Julia.  It  all 
seemed  to  come  natural  enough.  She  was  the  only  one 
that  cared  much  for  the  books  he  read,  and  so  of  course 
he  used  to  bring  'ern  to  her." 

"  Books  ?"  said  Julia.  "So  he  used  to  read  to  hei 
did  he  ?" 

"  Lor,  yes,  whole  long  evenings.  Ma  and  I  used  to  ge< 
so  sleepy,  but  he  never  seemed  to  get  tired  of  it,  and  hac1 
to  be  hinted  off  to  bed  'most  every  night.  He  's  sent  her 
up  books  since  by  the  stage.  I  tell  you,  they  were  reaJ 
good  friends.  I  don't  reckon  he  would  agree  with  you. 
Of  course  I  don't  think  she 's  perfection,  and  I  should  n't 
think  of  making  an  intimate  friend  of  her,  you  know,  be 
cause  she  's  only  the  teacher ;  but  then  I  like  Miss  Fannj 
very  well,  and  so  does  every  body  on  the  prairie." 

"  You  are  generous,  Nanny.  I  don't  believe  she  de- 
serves this  warm  defense  from  you.  Now  tell  me  truly, 
has  n't  she  tried  her  arts  on  some  of  your  beaux  up  there? 
How  is  it  with  that  Mr.  Turner,  that  used  to  think  so  much 
of  you,  and  Mr.  Mack,  and  all  the  rest  ?  Has  n't  she 
tried  to  cut  you  out  with  some  of  them." 


258  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

"Lor,  Cousin  Julia,  Bob  Turner  don't  think  much  of 
me,  I  reckon,"  said  Nanny,  her  blushes  telling  another 
story;  "and  the  gentlemen  all  seemed  to  like  Miss  Fanny 
upon  the  prairie,  but  nobody  in  particular,  unless  it  is  Mr. 
Tom  Walton,  and  of  course  he  would  n't  think  of  her  a 
minute,  because  he  's  so  rich  and  every  thing.  He  could 
take  his  pick  of  all  the  girls  on  the  prairie." 

"  She  might  think  of  him,  though,  Kanny,  and  I  have  a 
great  opinion  of  Miss  Fanny's  patience  and  perseverance, 
with  such  an  end  in  view.  You  would  feel  vexed  enougli 
to  see  the  greatest  prize  upon  the  prairie  carried  off  by  a 
poor  Connecticut  school-mistress." 

"  Cousin  Julia,"  said  Nanny,  suddenly  struck  by  a  bright 
idea,  "  you  are  jealous  of  Miss  Fanny.  That 's  what  makes 
you  talk  so." 

"  Jealous  of  her  !"  said  Cousin  Julia,  her  face  flushing 
crimson.  "  You  compliment  me  very  much,  Nanny,  by 
imagining  that  there  is  any  occasion." 

"I  don't  think  there  is  any  occasion,"  said  Nanny.  "I 
think  you  might  let  Mr.  Chester  look  at  her  once  in  a 
while,  if  he  is  engaged  to  you.  I  'm  sure  any  body  can 
pee  that  he  don't  care  for  the  first  person  but  you." 

Cousin  Julia  looked  very  angry  at  the  first  part  of  this 
speech,  but  seemed  a  little  mollified  at  its  close. 

"  You  are  too  ridiculous,  Nanny,"  she  said ;  "  you 
ought  to  know  me  too  well  to  think  for  a  moment  that  I 
should  be  influenced  by  any  such  low  motives.  No,  in- 
deed, what  I  have  said  about  her  is  out  of  kindness  to  you, 
lest  she  should  entrap  you  in  some  of  her  arts  before  you 
were,  aware  of  it.  I  don't  wish  to  be  too  hard  on  her.  I 
presume  it 's  a  good  deal  the  fault  of  her  education.  You 
see  she  has  probably  been  brought  up  in  a  dependant  sit- 
uation, where  she  has  been  obliged  to  act  a  servile  part, 
and  cringe  and  fawn  round  people,  while  at  the  same  time 


JEALOUSY.  259 

she  was  looking  out  for  her  own  interests.  A  girl  very 
soon  learns  to  be  cunning  and  deceitful  in  this  way." 

"  I  should  think  her  kin  were  very  respectable,"  said 
Nanny,  "from  what  I  've  heard  her  say." 

"  What  sent  her  way  out  here  to  teach  school  for  a  Hy- 
ing, then?"  said  Julia. 

"  O,  I  don't  know,  Cousin  Julia.  I  don't  love  to  talk 
about  it  with  you,  you  are  so  hard  on  Miss  Fanny." 

"  I  see  you  are  as  completely  taken  in  as  the  rest,  but 
at  least,  Nanny,  you  will  promise  not  to  betray  my  confi- 
dence, and  repeat  this  conversation  to  her.  It  could  do  no 
good,  and  of  course  I  intend  to  treat  her  with  strict  polite- 
ness while  she  is  my  guest.  You  won't  tell  her,  will  you  ?" 

"I  wouldn't  tell  her  for  all  the  world,  Cousin  Julia; 
she  would  feel  dreadfully  about  it,  and  go  home  this  very 
day,  too.  I  tell  you  she  is  as  independent  about  some 
things  as  you  are,  if  she  is  only  a  poor  teacher  from  Con- 
necticut." 

"  You  are  very  sparing  of  her  feelings,  Nanny.  I 
doubt  whether  she  would  stop  for  yours,  if  they  came  in 
her  way." 

"  She  is  jealous,"  thought  Nanny,  "  for  all  she's  so  stout 
ibout  it,  and  I  'in  glad  I  teased  her  a  little,  too,  about  his 
reading  to  the  teacher.  I  think  it 's  too  bad,  and  I  mean 
to  give  Miss  Fanny  a  little  hint  about  it,  so  that  she 
need  n't  go  on  provoking  her  to  it.  I  know  she  does  nH 
once  think  of  such  a  thing." 

"  Miss  Fanny,"  she  said,  the  first  time  they  were  alone 
together,  udid  you  notice  how  funny  Cousin  Julia  acted 
last  night?" 

"Yes,"  said  Fanny;  "she  surprised  me  very  much4 
What  did  it  mean  ?" 

"  I  '11  tell  you,  Miss  Fanny,  she 's  just  as  jealous  of  you 
as  she  can  be." 


260  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  Why,  Nanny,  it  is  n't  possible.  The  same  idea  came 
into  my  mind  last  night,  for  the  first  time,  but  I  dismissed 
it  at  once,  as  being  too  ridiculous  to  be  true." 

"  It 's  so,  though,"  said  Nanny,  very  confidently,  "  you 
may  take  my  word  for  it." 

"  O  !  I  hope  not,  Nanny.     What  makes  you  think  so  ?M 

"  Well,  last  night's  actions  is  one  thing,  and  then  I  've 
seen  her  watch  you  on  the  soi^  together,  when  you  was 
talking,  and  she  looked  mighty  riled,  and — well,  there's  a 
good  many  reasons." 

"Why,  Nanny,  I  have  felt  so  free  and  unrestrained 
with  him,  just  because  I  knew  him  to  be  engaged,  and  I 
think  the  same  thing  has  influenced  his  treatment  of  me. 
Then  the  idea  of  Cousin  Julia,  with  all  her  grace  and 
beauty,  with  the  full  assurance  of  his  love,  having  any 
thing  to  fear  from  me.  O,  Nanny,  it  is  too  ridiculous." 

"  I  know  it 's  mighty  foolish  ;  but  don't  you  see,  Miss 
Fanny,  she  thinks  so  much  of  him,  she  can't  bear  to  have 
him  speak  to  any  one  else.  How  silly  people  act  when 
they  are  engaged,  anyhow.  I  'm  sure  I  would  n't  let 
every  body  see  how  much  I  thought  of  a  man,  if  I  was 
going  to  marry  him." 

"  Wait  and  see,"  said  Fanny,  smiling,  but  the  smile  soon  • 
disappeared. 

"  Nanny,"  she  said  seriously,  "  Cousin  Julia  surely  can 
not  think  that  I  have  been  to  blame  in  this  matter,  that  1 
have  tried  to  engross  his  society." 

"  Well,  I  can't  say,  Miss  Fanny ;  but  I  reckon  if  you 
could  contrive  to  keep  out  of  his  way  a  little  more,  it 
would  please  her  better." 

"Nanny,  I  have  never  sought  his  society,"  said  Fanny, 
her  color  rising. 

"  I  know  it,  Miss  Fanny,  but  mebbe  she  thinks  you 
have.  Engaged  people  are  so  touchy." 


JEALOUSY.  261 

"  I  am  very,  very  sorry ;  I  did  not  dream  of  such  a 
thing." 

"  There,  now,  I  've  fixed  it  beautifully,"  thought  Nanny, 
"  and  without  giving  her  the  least  idea  that  Cousin  Julia 
has  been  runnin'  on  so  to  me.  I  'm  sure  I  don't  see  how 
any  body  can  think  bad  of  her,  after  looting  in  her  face." 

Meanwhile  Fanny  was  thinking  the  matter  over.  Had 
she  really  given  Julia  occasion  for  jealousy,  or  in  any  way 
drawn  from  Mr.  Chester  the  delicate  attentions  he  had 
bestowed.  No,  her  conscience  acquitted  her  of  all  inten- 
tional wrong.  She  had  enjoyed  his  society  exceedingly, 
and  she  had  taken  no  pains  to  conceal  it  from  Julia  her- 
self. Perhaps  he  had  seen  it,  too,  and  it  had  led  him  to 
give  her  more ;  but  what,  then,  must  a  gentleman  be  de- 
prived of  all  other  ladies'  society  because  he  happened  to 
be  engaged  ?  What  right  had  Julia  to  grudge  her  a  little 
of  his  pleasant  conversation,  when  she  would  enjoy  it  all 
her  life?  Fanny  was  feeling  quite  justified,  and  was 
working  herself  up  into  a  pitch  of  indignation  against  the 
young  lady,  when  she  suddenly  stopped.  Was  this  kind? 
Was  it  right?  She  commenced  again,  and  thought  of  the 
subject  from  the  other  side. 

Mr.  Chester  had  been  very  kind  and  attentive  to  her. 
She  certainly  had  occupied  a  large  portion  of  his  time  the 
last  week,  which  otherwise  he  would  have  devoted  to 
Julia.  He  had  taken  pity  on  her  as  a  stranger,  and  he 
liked  her  too,  she  believed,  in  a  brotherly  way,  and  so  he 
had  denied  himself  the  pleasure  of  Julia's  society,  some- 
times, just  to  gratify  and  amuse  her.  With  his  man's 
eyes,  he  did  not  see  how  this  would  affect  a  sensitive  girl 
in  the  first  flush  of  an  engagement,  when  she  would  natu- 
rally expect  him  to  be  engrossed  by  her.  But  she  (Fanny) 
ought  to  have  seen  it,  and  however  much  she  liked  his  so- 
ciety, have  put  a  stop  to  those  long  talks  at  once.  She* 


262  WESTERN     BOBDEK     LIFE. 

had  been  very  much  to  blame.  No  wonder  Julia  had 
treated  her  coldly.  Unconsciously  she  had  caused  her 
much  unhappiness.  And  now  how  could  she  remedy  the 
mischief?  Should  she  go  to  Julia,  have  a  plain  talk,  and 
explain  every  thing  ?  What  was  there  to  explain,  though  ? 
It  would  only  occasion  embarrassment  if  she  mentioned 
the  subject  at  all.  No,  she  would  say  nothing  about  it ; 
but  she  would  at  once  commence  a  different  course.  She 
would  avoid  Mr.  Chester's  society  whenever  she  civilly 
could ;  all  those  long  talks  on  the  sofa  must  be  given  up 
at  once ;  and  she  would  let  Julia  see  very  soon  that  she 
had  no  occasion  to  cherish  a  suspicious  thought  concerning 
her. 

"  Yes,  Nanny,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  am  very  glad  you 
have  spoken  about  this,  though  it  distresses  me  not  a  lit- 
tle. I  see  plainly  that  I  have  been  blind,  and  now  that 
my  eyes  are  opened,  we  will  soon  put  things  to  rights." 

"  And,  Miss  Fanny,  we  are  going  back  to  the  prairie 
in  a  little  more  than  a  week.  I  sha'n't  be  so  mighty  sorry 
to  leave  town  after  all.  I  feel  so  kinder  lost  in  the  crowd 
times,  that  it  makes  my  head  ache.  Don't  you,  Miss 
Fanny  ?» 

"I  have  enjoyed  it  very  much,  Nanny;"  said  Fanny, 
rather  sadly. 

"  Well,  so  have  I ;  but  after  all,  La  Belle  Prai  .*  is  tha 
oesfc." 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

UA     SOUTH -SIDE     VIEW." 

"  WELL,"  said  Judge  Stanton,  throwing  down  his  paper, 
u  there  's  not  much  news.  Miss  Fanny,  how  do  you  like 
Missouri  ?" 

"  I  know  very  little  of  Missouri,"  said  Fanny,  "  having 
lived  only  at  La  Belle  Prairie." 

"  But  you  have  seen  enough  to  compare  it  with  the 
country  towns  of  the  land  of  steady  habits  and  wooden 
nutmegs." 

"  Now,  Judge  Stauton,"  said  Fanny,  "  have  you,  too, 
taken  up  that  foolish  prejudice  against  Connecticut,  so 
common  here  at  the  west  ?  Do  you  not  know  that  wooden 
nutmegs  are  myths,  the  truth  lying  at  bottom  being,  that 
settlers  from  Yankee-land,  by  their  general  education  and 
good  business  habits,  are  superior  to  their  neighbors." 

"  Tut !  tut !  Miss  Fanny,  don't  become  excited  now.  I 
respect  Connecticut  as  truly  as  you,  and  was  only  afraid 
that  you  saw  the  disease  of  Missouri  as  plainly  as  I. 
Would  we  had  the  hardy  energy  and  cultivated  charac- 
ter of  the  freemen  of  your  native  hills,  to  infuse  the  life- 
blood  into  the  State  of  my  adoption,  dying  of  consumption 
even  in  its  infancy." 

"  And  what  think  you  is  the  cause  ?"  asked  Fanny. 

"  Clearly  enough,  Slavery.  I  am  an  out-spoken  man, 
and  you  need  not  keep  your  lips  so  close,  Miss  Fanny,  for 


264  WESTERN     B  O  K  D  E  It     LIFE. 

the  power  of  the  system  is  not  half  so  great  in  this  State 
as  it  looks  to  be,  nor  is.  it  anywhere.  Slaveholding  poli- 
ticians are  good  generals,  and  like  Washington  at  Valley 
Forge,  keep  up  a  good  show  of  strength,  on  a  very  small 
capital,  cheating  their  northern  allies  into  support  of  the 
By  stem.  There  is  no  real  strength  in  it,  and  it  would  fall 
of  itself  if  party  maneuvering  would  let  it  alone." 

"This  from  a  southern  man  ! — When,  and  how?"  said 
Fanny.  "  Oh,  would  that  it  might." 

"  Now,  there  you  are,"  said  the  judge,  laughing.  "  You 
see  it  has  come  out  in  spite  of  you.  You  have  seen  enough 
of  the  system  at  La  Belle  Prairie,  to  loathe  it  with  disgust. 
No  wonder  !  I  loathe  it  too,  and  have  got  quite  clear  of 
it,  and  I  would  all  Missouri  was  clear  of  it.  You  ask 
how  it  is  to  fall  ?  I  will  tell  you.  By  forcing  it  out  of 
its  supports  from  political  power.  It  is  that  which  keeps 
it  alive.  If  it  could  be  driven  out  of  Washington,  it  would 
die  by  its  own  diseases.  It  all  rests  with  Connecticut, 
and  its  kindred  Free.  States.  If  these  would  only  firmly 
withstand  the  slave  power,  so  that  we  could  rely  upon  the 
northern  forces  as  allies,  we,  who  hate  slavery,  in  the 
Slave  States — and  there  are  more  of  us  than  you  imagine — 
would  join  our  forces,  and  take  the  political,  and  social 
prestige  away  from  the  little  oligarchy,  which  wield  it 
now.  But  we  can  not  do  any  thing  alone." 

u  Your  senators  say  they  will  destroy  the  Union,"  said 
Fanny. 

"  The  Union  is  indestructible,"  replied  the  judge,  rising 
fiom  his  chair.  "  It  is  no  dissoluble  contract,  as  Webster 
has  established  it  for  all  time.  North  and  South,  there 
w  11  always  be  enough  to  rally  round  the  Union,  with  its 
glorious  memories,  to  put  down  all  traitors.  A  few  sen- 
ators and  representatives  in  Congress,  under  the  pressure 
of  our  present  social  and  political  ideas,  may  talk  large 


"A     SOUTH-SIDE    VIEW."  265 

and  loudly,  but  it  is  folly  to  be  alarmed.  Did  you  ever 
read  Burke,  Miss  Fanny  ?  There  is  great  wisdom  in  a 
single  figure  of  his,  which  I  would  commend  to  all  northern 
politicians :  '  Because  a  few  grasshoppers  under  a  fern 
make  the  field  ring  with  their  importunate  chink,  while  a 
thousand  oxen,  under  the  shade  of  the  British  oak,  chew 
the  cud  and  are  silent,  do  not  think  that  they  who  make 
the  noise  are  the  only  tenants  of  the  field,  or  that  they 
are  any  thing  more  than  the  insignificant,  noisy,  hopping 
insects  of  the  hour.'  " 

"  It  is  a  very  vigorous  figure,"  said  Fanny.  "  No,  I 
never  read  Burke.  But,  after  all,  is  there  not  some  danger 
of  a  civil  war.  Though  the  Union  will  finally  stand,  may 
it  not  be  at  the  price  of  blood.  So  the  southern  people 
tell  us,  you  know,  and  my  good  father  in  his  parsonage 
always  feared  it." 

"  Civil  fiddlesticks,  Miss  Fanny.  Do  you  think  our 
States  are  inhabited  by  fools.  War  is  a  serious  matter, 
and  can  not  be  forced  upon  a  people  as  easy  as  mere  blus- 
tering for  slavery.  Those  who  do  not  hold  slaves  at  the 
South,  will  let  the  cavaliers  talk  blood  and  thunder,  so  long 
as  it  frightens  the  Yankees,  and  will  not  try  to  stem  the 
popular  current,  which  runs  in  favor  of  slavery,  so  long  as 
they  are  left  to  grow  rich  out  of  the  prodigal  slaveholders, 
who,  making  their  money  easy,  are  good  customers. 
But  when  these  same  cavaliers  pitch  their  tune  upon  the 
key  of  war,  and  taxation,  and  ruin  of  business,  this  same 
non-slaveholding  majority  of  the  Southern  States,  will 
make  a  rare  discord,  and  declare  that  it  takes  two  to 
make  such  a  bargain." 

"  You  speak  very  confidently,"  said  Fanny.  "  I  wish 
my  father  could  have  taken  your  view  of  the  matter.  It 
would  have  saved  him  many  an  anxious  hour,  and  set  hi* 
heart  completely  at  rest." 

12 


'206  WESTERN     B  O  It  D  E  R     LIFE. 

"  Why,  my  dear  girl,  it  is  perfectly  clear !  What  have 
the  people  who  hold  no  slaves  to  fight  for?  They  bluster, 
indeed,  to  get  the  slaveholder's  custom,  but  it  would  be 
ruin  to  rush  into  a  war ;  and  so,  in  the  days  of  nullifica- 
tion, all  the  States  skulked  away  from  fighting,  showing 
the  white  feather  to  the  great  Old  Hickory.  You  see 
the  majority  of  the  white  people  at  the  South  care  not  a 
fig  for  slavery,  excepting  as  they  get  rich  out  of  the  prodi- 
gal planters." 

"  Go  on,  please,"  said  Fanny,  as  the  judge  paused.  "Is 
that  all,  as  the  children  say,  when  I  pause  in  a  story  ?" 

"Well,  now,"  continued  the  judge,  pleased  with  his 
listener's  attention,  "  if  our  free  States  would  stand  upon 
the  dignity  of  right,  and  expect  no  longer  to  save  the 
Union  by  wire-pullers,  but  only  by  manly  and  upright 
policy,  there  would  be  no  danger.  If  in  the  next  presi- 
dential canvass,  the  people  of  the  North  show  an  undi- 
vided front,  and  a  determination  to  drive  slavery  from 
the  White  House,  the  work  is  done.  Our  Toombs's  and 
Atchisons  go  to  the  tomb  of  the  Capulets,  and  the  South- 
ern States  will  show  that  there  is  a  deep  conviction  within 
them  against  slavery,  which  is  now  restrained  only  by  the 
pressure  of  power,  and  that  comes  from  North ern  intrigue 
and  want  of  integrity." 

"  I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Fanny. 

"  Certainly  I  am.  There  is  a  deep  under-current  work- 
ing against  this  institution,  in  all  the  slave  States.  There 
is  a^wide-spread  moral  sentiment  against  it.  But  it  can 
not  express  itself.  Why  not?  Because  a  Southern  oli- 
garchy, with  wealth  and  training,  and  political  education, 
have  allied  themselves  with  two  elements  at  the  North, 
the  one  that  of  greediness  for  office  among  the  bad,  and 
the  other  that  of  conscientious  cowardice,  lest  the  Union 
should  fall,  on  the  part  of  the  good.  With  these  allies. 


UA     SOU  III  -SIDE     VIEW."  26 

they  have  developed  such  a  social  power,  that  we  at  the 
South  who  hate  slavery,  being  without  the  supports  and 
coherences  of  our  opponents,  can  do  nothing,  and  it  would 
be  worse  than  useless  to  show  ourselves." 

"Yet  people  say  the  North  has  nothing  to  do  with 
slavery." 

"  It  has  every  thing  to  do  with  it.  It  could  not  exist 
without  the  North.  All  that  is  necessary  is  to  crush  the 
social  and  political  prestige,  which  binds  it  upon*  the  necks 
of  the  South.  It  would  then  unquestionably  die  out.  The 
North  can  and  must  do  that.  What  do  you  think  we 
want  of  slavery  in  Missouri  ?" 

"  It  effectually  cuts  off  free  labor,"  said  Fanny,  "  and 
makes  poor  white  folks  the  very  dregs  of  society." 

"  Precisely,"  said  the  judge.  "  It  completely  destroys 
industry ;  and  this  is  the  foundation  of  true  prosperity. 
Labor  is  dishonored,  and  when  that  is  so,  the  curse  of  God 
inevitably  results.  Why  should  Missouri  be  behind  Illi- 
nois, but  because  of  slavery?  Would  a  Connecticut 
farmer  want  to  work  by  the  side  of  Cousin  Catlett's  nig- 
gers ?" 

"  Not  he !" 

"  There  is  precisely  the  philosophy  of  the  subject.  And 
yet  the  power  which  rules  us,  is  about  to  force  it  upon 
Kanzas,  perhaps  Nebraska,  and  only  God  knows  where 
its  boundaries  shall  be." 

"That  repeal  of  the  compromise  seemed  to  me  a  breach 
of  faith." 

"  It  was  a  breach  of  faith  !  shameful  beyond  measure 
but  after  all,  that  is  not  the  worst  symptom  in  the  case. 
It  is  only  a  symptom  of  a  deep-seated  disease  at  the 
North,  which  must  be  cured  before  there  is  any  hope  of 
success.  The  North  has  the  '  Western  shake.'  It  wants 
large  doses  of  quinine.  If  there  was  only  firm  principle 


268  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

at  tho  North,  which  would  offer  itself  as  a  basis  for  the 
now  unseen  moral  sentiment  of  the  South,  and  would 
stand  by  it,  we  might  in  our  age  see  the  death-blow  given 
to  slavery." 

"  Do  you  mean  slavery  in  the  States.  I  suppose  that  is 
entirely  under  State  control." 

"  Certainly  it  is,  and  States  are  under  popular  control. 
Just  so  soon  as  a  firm  public  sentiment,  unyielding  and 
unbending,  is  found  at  the  North,  which  shall  destroy  the 
slave  power  in  the  general  government,  then  the  slave 
power  in  the  States  will  also  be  destroyed,  and  we  shall 
be  left  to  reason  out  the  question  with  all  its  difficulties 
among  ourselves.  It  will  become  a  moral  question  and 
not  a  political  one.  There  will  be  no  disturbing  influences, 
and  therefore  we  may  be  sure  of  the  result." 

"  But  they  say  slavery  is  so  interwoven  with  society  as 
to  make  it  next  to  impossible  to  get  rid  of  it." 

"  All  humbug,  Fanny.  The  trouble  is  not  in  the  com- 
plication of  the  subject,  but  in  the  refusal  to  try  to  unravel 
it.  I  do  not  suppose  we  can  crush  it  at  once.  Was  not 
Connecticut  a  slave  State  ?" 

"  Certainly,  a  long  time  ago." 

"  But  there  were  slaves  in  Connecticut  only  a  few  yeara 
ago,  Fanny ;  how  did  this  happen  ?" 

"  They  were  the  remains  of  the  ancient  slavery.  The 
old  people,  who  were  not  freed  by  the  act  of  emancipation. 
These,  too,  you  know,  have  been  set  at  liberty." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  see  you  are  pretty  well  posted  up.  I  did 
not  know  but  I  might  catch  you  tripping.  Well,  now, 
was  not  Connecticut  a  free  State  before  that  last  act  was 
passed  ?" 

"  To  all  intents  and  purposes,  as  you  lawyers  would  say> 
it  was." 

4 1  go  further  than  that,  and  maintain  that  just  so  soon 


"A     SOUTH-SIDE    VIET*    "  269 

as  the  spirit  of  slavery  is  changed,  and  the  States  begin  to 
legislate  for  the  good  of  the  slave,  instead  of  as  now  the 
good  of  the  master,  then  the  institution  has  received  its 
death-blow.  Just  so  soon  as  the  great  northern  public 
sentiment  is  formed,  we  shall  begin  to  make  laws  to  pre- 
sene  the  family  relation,  secure  education,  unlock  the 
Bible,  give  opportunities  for  rising  in  worldly  goods,  pre- 
sent inducements  to  the  purchase  of  freedom ;  every  ono 
of  which  laws,  just  to  the  extent  of  each,  abolishes  slavery. 
Then  just  as  the  British  serf  passed  into  the  free  citizen, 
so  will  the  American  slave,  till  at  last  a  universal  decree 
of  emancipation  shall  complete  the  work." 

"  O  let  us  pray  that  such  a  time  may  come,"  said  Fanny, 
earnestly. 

"  Not  now,  Fanny,"  said  the  judge,  gravely ;  "  I  am 
opposed  to  the  praying  of  women  in  public.  Wait  till 
you  are  alone,  if  you  please." 

"  Why,  Judge  Stanton,  if—" 

Here  a  servant  entered,  informing  the  judge  that  a  gen. 
tleman  was  waiting  for  him  at  his  office,  who  qu  »-klj 
obeyed  the  summons,  leaving  Fanny  to  pray  alone. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

MISUNDERSTANDINGS. 

FANNY'S  resolution  was  faithfully  kept.  Ko  sooner  was 
she  convinced  by  Cousin  Julia's  hasty  words,  and  Nanny's 
assertion,  that  she  was  the  cause  of  any  unpleasant  feeling, 
than  her  whole  course  of  conduct  was  changed.  She  was 
not  one  to  do  any  thing  by  halves,  and  in  her  anxiety  to  con- 
vince Julia  that  there  were  no  grounds  for  her  suspicions, 
she  suddenly  began  to  treat  Mr.  Chester  with  such  cold- 
ness and  formality,  as  greatly  to  astonish  and  perplex  him. 
From  a  frank,  open-hearted  girl,  in  whose  eyes  he  always 
read  a  welcome,  and  whose  thoughts  he  could  almost  in- 
terpret in  the  expressive  changes  of  her  features,  she  all  at 
once  became,  in  his  presence,  distant  and  constrained, 
avoiding  his  society  whenever  she  decently  could,  and 
when,  as  frequently  happened,  he  would  not  be  put  off,  but 
forced  her  to  remain,  she  seemed  to  endure,  and  not  as 
formerly  enjoy,  his  conversation.  Once  or  twice,  indeed, 
she  relapsed  into  her  old  manner,  lifting  her  eyes  frankly 
to  his  face,  and  speaking  in  her  free,  open  way,  but  just  as 
he  would  begin  to  rejoice  in  the  change,  she  would  seem 
suddenly  to  recollect  herself,  and  make  up  for  the  relapse, 
by  treating  him  ten  times  more  stiffly  than  before. 

This  conduct  was  so  unlike  Fanny,  that  Mr.  Chester 
knew  not  what  to  make  of  it,  and  though  grieved  exceed- 
ingly, it  was  some  time  before  he  became  seriously  of 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS.  271 

fended.  But  when  it  had  continued  nearly  a  week,  and 
he  could  obtain  no  explanation,  though  he  sought  it  earn- 
estly, his  spirit  was  roused,  and  he  determined  to  make 
no  more  efforts  to  conciliate  one  who  so  uniformly  treated 
him  with  neglect.  Fanny  had  no  idea  that  she  was  over- 
doing the  matter,  or  manifesting  real  unkiridness  to  one 
who  had  shown  himself  so  warm  a  friend  as  Harry  Chester. 
She  thought  only  of  her  own  privation  when  she  avoided 
him,  it  was  so  hard  to  check  the  kind  words  she  wanted  to 
say,  the  frank  manner  she  had  always  used  toward  him, 
and  ta  deprive  herself  of  the  pleasure  of  his  society.  When 
she  had  treated  him  with  unusual  coldness,  and  continued 
in  it  a  whole  evening,  she  considered  that  she  had  done 
an  excellent  thing,  and  thought  it  all  over  with  great  satis- 
faction, while  he,  vexed  and  grieved,  knew  not  what  to 
make  of  her,  and  sighed  for  the  days  that  were  past. 

By-and-by  Mr.  Chester  made  no  more  efforts  to  bring 
about  those  long  talks  on  the  sofa,  but  left  Fanny  entirely 
to  herself,  or  to  some  other  gentleman,  while  Cousin  Julia 
was  engaged  at  the  piano.  He  took  less  and  less  notice 
of  her,  and  avoided  her  society.  Fanny  fancied  that  this 
was  just  what  she  wanted,  and  tried  to  convince  herself 
that  she  was  quite  as  happy  as  before  ;  but  it  would  not  do, 
and  the  evenings  were  long  and  dull.  She  missed,  she 
knew  not  what,  and  began  to  sympathize  fully  with  Nanny, 
in  her  wish  to  return  to  the  prairie. 

"You  and  Harry  Chester  have  had  a  falling  out,"  said 
Julia  one  day. 

UO,  no  ;"  said  Fanny,  quietly. 

4<  Indeed !  I  thought  it  must  be.  He  treats  you  so 
dxcscantly,  and  expresses  such  an  opinion  of  you.  You 
must  have  offended  him  in  some  way." 

"No,"  said  Fanny,  again. 

"  You  treat  him  very  coldly." 


i'72  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  I  think  very  highly  of  him,  nevertheless.  So  highly, 
that  I  consider  him  worthy  even  of  you,  Julia;-'  said 
Fanny,  with  a  smile. 

"  Nonsense !  He  was  speaking  :c  me  at)-  at  it  last 
night.  He  says  he  has  not  given  you  the  least  occasion 
for  such  a  sudden  change ;  that  when  you  first  came,  he 
took  some  little  pains  to  entertain  you,  thinking  you  might 
be  lonely  among  st»  i:  ^ers." 

"  It  was  pity,  then  ,"  thought  Fanny. 

"  He  laughed  about  it,  and  was  so  rude  as  to  say  that  if 
you  had  no  further  use  for  him,  he  thought  he  could  man- 
age to  get  along  without  you.  He  is  very  plain-spoken,  I 
think." 

"He  thinks  me  fickle  in  my  friendships,  I  suppose," 
said  Fanny,  with  a  faint  attempt  at  a  smile. 

"  He  did  insinuate  something  of  the  sort,"  said  Julia, 
carelessly.  "  It  is  the  crying  sin  of  our  sex,  you  know  ;" 
and  she  went  off  humming  a  tune. 

Poor  Fanny  crushed  back  a  tear  or  two,  and  went  on 
with  her  work. 

It  was  while  matters  were  in  this  state,  that  Mi-.  Tom 
Walton  came  to  town.  The  young  ladies  met  him  one 
evening  at  a  concert,  after  which  he  became  a  constant 
visitor  at  Judge  Stanton's  house.  As  he  appeared  to  have 
no  business  in  the  city,  it  seemed  very  probable  that  his 
visit  was  in  some  way  connected  with  the  young  ladies' 
stay  there.  He  dressed  in  the  height  of  fashion,  and  driv- 
ing a  dashing  span  of  grays,  seemed  determined  to  impress 
people  generally  with  a  sense  of  his  importance.  He 
singled  out  Fanny  as  the  favored  object  of  his  attentions, 
and  annoyed  her  exceedingly  by  His  close  attendance,  and 
his  pressing  invitations  to  ride,  which,  with  a  single  ex- 
ception, she  invariably  declined,  for  he  was  in  every  way 
disagreeable  to  her,  and  she  felt  numbled  rather  than  flat- 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS.  275 

tered  by  his  evident  admiration.  His  dress,  his  swagger- 
ing manner,  and  his  blunt,  braggart  style  of  conversation, 
proclaimed  him  to  be  no  gentleman,  and  it  was  only  good 
nature  and  consideration  for  his  feelings,  that  induced 
Fanny  to  treat  him  with  common  civility. 

But  he  was  the  "  rich  Tom  Walton,  the  greatest  catch 
en  the  prairie ;"  and  even  Nanny,  with  all  her  good- 
nature,  could  hardly  forgive  our  little  Connecticut  girl  for 
being  the  favored  one. 

"  I  declare,"  she  said  one  day,  when  Fanny  had  been 
almost  forced  into  the  only  ride  she  took  with  him,  as  the 
grays  dashed  away  from  the  door,  "  I  declare,  Julia,  she 
is  the  least  bit  of  a  flirt  after  all." 

Julia  laughed.  "  I  thought  you  would  come  to  your 
senses,  Nanny.  You  will  find  her  to  be  just  the  design- 
ing creature  I  told  you." 

"And  yet  she  says  she  doesn't  like  him.  She  made 
believe  that  she  would  much  rather  stay  at  home,  than  to 
ride  with  him." 

"  Probably,"  said  Julia. 

As  they  dashed  down  the  street,  as  ill  luck  would  have 
it,  they  met  Mr.  Chester.  He  touched  his  hat  to  Fanny, 
and  glanced,  as  she  fancied,  curiously  and  disdainfully  at 
her  companion. 

"  He  thinks  I  have  given  up  his  friendship  for  such  so- 
ciety as  this,"  she  thought,  bitterly.  "  I  would  have  been 
glad  to  keep  his  respect,  if  nothing  more." 

The  next  evening  they  were  going  to  a  concert,  Julia 
with  Mr.  Chester,  Nanny  with  Tom  Walton,  and  Fanny 
with  the  judge,  whose  escort  she  had  secured  to  save  her- 
self from  the  company  of  her  prairie  beau,  whom  Nanny 
was  but  too  proud  to  accompany.  It  happened,  however, 
that  in  running  down  stairs  Julia  sprained  her  ankle,  and 
though  she  thought  little  of  the  accident  at  the  moment, 

12* 


274  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

yet  by  evening  she  was  obliged  in  consequence  to  remain 
at  home. 

The  two  young  gentlemen  made  their  appearance  at 
the  appointed  hour,  but  the  judge  did  not  come,  and  after 
waiting  some  time,  Mrs.  Stanton  proposed  that  they 
gL.iuld  go  at  once,  leaving  him  to  join  them  in  the  hall. 
Fanny  playfully  protested  that  she  must  wait  for  her 
escort,  but  her  objections  were  all  overruled,  principally 
by  the  tone  and  look  with  which  Mr.  Chester  said  to  her, 
when  no  one  was  listening,  "  Are  you  so  unwilling  to  go 
with  me  ?"  Fanny  shook  her  head,  and  \vith  something 
of  her  old  frankness  of  manner,  put  her  arm  in  his. 

She  scarcely  knew  what  was  said  during  the  walk.  She 
only  remembered  that  he  was  kind  again,  that  she  was 
thinking  to  herself  all  the  while  that  she  had  not  quite 
lost  him  for  a  friend,  and  that  he  said  something  to  her  as 
they  entered  the  hall,  about  "  being  Fanny  Hunter  again 
to-night."  And  why  should  she  not  ?  Julia  Stanton  was 
not  there,  to  be  vexed  by  his  kindness  to  her.  Surely 
she  might  throw  aside  the  vail  for  one  evening. 

The  judge  did  not  come,  but  nobody  missed  him.  The 
concert  was  second  or  third  rate,  but  neither  of  them, 
thought  so,  and  though  it  continued  two  mortal  hours, 
they  considered  it  very  short.  When  Fanny  ran  up  to  her 
own  room,  her  cheeks  were  still  glowing  with  pleasurable 
excitement,  and  the  tones  of  her  companion's  voice  were 
ringing  in  her  ears,  and  yet  there  was  a  guilty,  self-ace  ising 
feeling  within  that  caused  her,  after  a  little,  to  sit  down 
and  think  it  all  over. 

The  result  was  not  satisfactory.  IrA  vain  she  tried  to 
reason  away  the  suspicion  that  troubled  her;  and  convince 
herself  that  it  was  because  she  had  broken  her  resolution, 
and  given  Julia  more  occasion  for  jealousy,  that  she  was 
feeling  so  guilty.  But  it  would  not  do.  She  felt  that 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS.  275 

there  was  still  another  cause,  and  she  finally  put  the  ques- 
tion frankly  to  herself,  whether  for  her  own  sake,  as  well 
as  Julia  Stantori's,  it  would  not  be  best  to  avoid  Mr. 
Chester's  society.  However  much  she  might  shrink  from 
the  humiliating  thought,  that  the  companionship  of  one 
who  was  solemnly  pledged  to  another,  was  becoming 
dangerous  to  her  peace  of  mind,  the  conclusion  forced  it- 
self upon  her,  that  in  some  measure  this  was  beginning  to 
be  true. 

Poor  Fanny !  She  thought  she  could  have  borne  any 
thing  better  than  this  humiliating  acknowledgment,  and 
she  paced  her  little  room  with  rapid  steps,  bitterly  up- 
braiding her  own  weakness.  "  It  was  time,"  she  thought, 
"  high  time  that  I  avoided  him,  before  I  come  to  be  one 
of  those  silly,  love-sick  girls,  whom  I  have  always  de- 
spised." 

If,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  self-upbraiding,  it  once  or 
twice  occurred  to  her  that  Mr.  Chester  himself  had  been 
somewhat  to  blame,  and  that  there  had  been  looks  and 
tones  that  evening  that  the  lady  of  his  choice  would  not 
be  pleased  to  see  addressed  to  another,  if  this  thought 
arose  in  her  mind,  she  instantly  dismissed  it,  and  con- 
cluded that  her  own  weakness  had  misinterpreted  what 
he  intended  as  mere  brotherly  kindness. 

"  O  dear,  dear,"  said  Fanny  to  herself,  at  the  conclusion 
of  her  cogitations,  "I  wish  I  were  out  of  all  this,  and  back 
again  on  the  prairie." 

Meanwhile  a  scene  of  quite  another  character  was  trans- 
piring in  cousin  Julia's  room.  Mr.  Tom  Walton  not 
proving  very  talkative  or  agreeable  at  the  concert,  Nanny 
found  ample  time  to  observe  Fanny  and  Mr.  Chester,  and 
she  amused  herself  by  thinking  how  she  could  excite  cousin 
Julia's  jealousy,  by  her  remarks  upon  their  evident  enjoy 
ment  of  each  other's  society.  She  was  not  an  itf-natured 


276  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

girl,  and  had  no  intent'' on  of  doing  Fanny  an  injury,  but 
the  prospect  of  rou  mg  her  cousin  a  little,  and  getting 
up  a  scene,  was  quite  irresistible.  She  accordingly  re- 
paired at  once  to  the  young  lady's  chamber,  hoping  to 
find  her  still  up.  She  was  not  disappointed.  Cousin  Julia, 
with  her  graceful  form  wrapped  in  a  loose  morning-robe, 
was  stretched  upon  a  lounge  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
She  held  a  book  in  her  hand,  but  threw  it  down  with  : 
yawn  as  her  cousin  entered,  and  with  a  "  Well,  Nanny,*' 
sank  back  languidly  upon  her  pillows. 

"Well,  cousin  Julia,  you  ought  to  have  been  there," 
said  Nanny. 

"  Have  you  enjoyed  the  evening,  Nanny  ?" 

"Yes  ;  not  so  well  as  some  other  folks,  though." 

She  waited  for  an  answer,  but  the  young  lady  appeared 
too  sleepy  tq  give  one. 

"  I  declare,"  she  said  at  last,  getting  out  of  patience, 
"you  would  n't  be  lying  there  half  asleep,  if  you  had  seen 
the  carryings  on  that  I  have  to-night." 

"  What  carryings  on  ?"  said  cousin  Julia. 

"  Well,  mebbe  you  would  n't  think  of  it  as  any  thing 
out  of  the  way  here,  but  up  the  country  it  would  make  a 
talk,  to  have  such  actions  going  on." 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  driving  at?"  said  Julia, 
impatiently.  "  Can't  you  speak  out,  Nanny  ?" 

"  I  s'pose  you  felt  mighty  safe  and  easy  here  at  home, 
and  your  beau  off  waitin'  on  another  lady,"  said  Nanny 
significantly. 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  returned  her  cousin,  haughtily. 
"I'll  thank  you  to  tell  me  why  I  should  not !" 

Nanny,  who  at  all  times  stood  a  little  in  awe  of  her 
beautiful  cousin,  was  quite  taken  aback  by  this  manner  of 
receiving  her  hints,  and  would  gladly  have  left  the  com- 
munication just  where  it  was ;  but  Julia  had  raised  herself  < 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS.  177 

on  her  elbow,  and  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  was  wait- 
ing for  a  reply. 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Cousin  Julia,"  she  said  at 
length ;  "  for  pity's  sake  don't  look  so  solemn  about  it.  I 
was  only  in  fun." 

"  And  when  you  are  ready  to  explain,  I  should  like  to 
know  what  all  the  fun  is  about,"  said  Julia  in  the  same 
tone. 

"  I  declare,  Julia,  you  frighten  me.  It  was  just  nothing 
at  all,  only  Fanny  Hunter  flirted  all  the  while  at  the  con- 
cert with  Mr.  Chester,  and  I  thought  I  'd  tease  you  a  little 
about  it." 

"  Where  was  my  father  ?"  said  Julia,  calmly.  "  I  thought 
he  was  going  with  Fanny  Hunter." 

"He  didn't  come,  though;  they  had  it  all  to  them- 
selves." 

"I  hope  they  enjoyed  it,"  said  Cousin  Julia,  indiffer- 
ently. 

"  They  acted  like  they  did,"  said  Nanny,  a  little  pro- 
voked with  her  cousin  for  not  exhibiting  more  feeling. 
"  They  appeared  to  be  making  the  most  of  it." 

"And  what  do  you  know  about  it?"  said  Julia,  her  usu- 
ally soft  voice  raised  to  rather  an  unlady-like  pitch.  "  How 
could  you  tell  whether  they  were  flirting  or  not?' 

"  Well,  of  course  I  did  n't  hear  what  they  said  ;  but  we 
pat  a  little  way  behind  'em,  and  I  could  see  how  thick  they 
were,  and  how  he  leaned  over  once  in  a  while  and  looked 
into  her  eyes ;  and  she — " 

"  And  she,"  said  Cousin  Julia,  impatiently,  interrupting 
her  ;  "how  did  the  unsophisticated  little  innocent  take  it 
all?" 

"  O,  she  sat  there  smiling  away,  with  such  a  pretty 
color  in  her  cheeks,  as  happy  as  you  please.  It  seemed 
'most  a  pity  when  the  concert  was  over,  to  break  it  -41  up." 


278  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

"It  was  a  great  pity,"  said  Julia,  bitterly.  "And  now, 
my  dear  coz,  is  this  all  the  pleasant  information  you  have 
to  give  me  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Nanny,  "  we  all  came  home  together,  and 
she  went  straight  up  to  her  own  room,  and  I  came  in  here 
to  tell  you  about  it." 

"It  was  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Julia,  dryly;  "and 
now  as  I  am  an  invalid,  and  very  sleepy  and  tired  beside, 
I  hope  you  will  excuse  me  and  let  me  go  to  bed." 

She  looked  any  thing  but  sleepy,  with  her  curled  lip 
and  flashing  eye ;  but  Nanny  took  up  her  lamp  and  bade 
her  good-night.  "Well,"  she  thought,  as  she  closed  the 
door,  "  Cousin  Julia  is  the  strangest  girl !  Who  would 
ever  have  thought  of  her  taking  it  so  cool?" 

Julia's  troublesome  foot  obliged  her  to  keep  her  room 
for  several  days,  and  the  irksomeness  of  the  confinement, 
together  with  the  pain  it  caused  her,  kept  her  in  a  state 
of  nervous  irritability,  that  tried  the  patience  of  all  about 
her,  and  even  called  forth  a  rebuke  from  her  gentle 
mother. 

"  Julia,  my  dear,  what  ails  you  ?"  she  said.  "  I  never 
saw  you  so  impatient  before.  You  have  borne  longer 
confinements  than  this,  with  only  one  for  company,  and 
here  are  your  two  friends  ready  to  sit  with  you  and 
amuse  you  in  any  way  you  fancy.  Let  Miss  Hunter  read 
to  you  awhile  this  morning.  It  will  divert  your  attention 
from  yourself,  and  do  you  good.  Shall  I  send  for  her  ?" 

"  O.  no,  mamma.  I  only  want  to  be  let  alone.  I  am 
tired  to  death  of  company.  I  wish  you  would  contrive  to 
get  rid  of  them." 

"You  will  feel  differently,  Julia,  when  your  foot  is 
better,"  said  her  mother,  quietly. 

That  same  evening,  however,  the  invalid  accepted  Fan- 
ny's oiler  to  read  aloud,  and  when  in  an  hour  or  so  the 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS.  279 

girl  came  up  to  tell  Miss  Hunter  that  Mr.  Chester  was  in 
the  parlor,  Julia  appeared  so  unwilling  to  lose  her  society, 
that  she  very  gladly  remained,  sending  word  that  she  was 
engaged  with  the  sick  one.  This  happened  twice  or  three 
times,  and  then  Mrs.  Stanton  insisted  upon  Fanny's  going 
down,  though  Julia  would  gladly  have  detained  her. 
"Fanny,  in  her  simplicity,  thought  that  she  was  making 
some  progress  in  the  young  lady's  regard,  and  was  only 
too  delighted  at  the  change ;  the  sarcastic  remarks  that 
invalid  now  and  then  dropped,  falling  harmlessly  to  the 
ground,  because  she  did  not  in  the  least  understand 
them. 

"  Go  down,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Stanton,  as  Fanny  still 
lingered,  "  Julia  will  not  be  so  selfish  as  to  detain  you. 
Nanny  is  there,  and  I  will  soon  follow  you." 

As  she  entered  the  parlor,  Mr.  Chester  rose  to  meet 
her.  He  was  alone,  and  Fanny,  who  had  expected  to 
find  Nanny  in  the  room,  was  a  little  embarrassed  by  the 
warmth  of  his  reception.  It  was  their  first  meeting  since 
the  night  of  the  concert,  and  there  was  something  in  his 
manner  which,  in  despite  of  all  her  brave  resolutions,  pre- 
vented her  from  being  so  calm  and  self-possessed  as  she 
had  intended.  Half  unconsciously  she  took  her  old  place 
on  the  sofa,  and  Mr.  Chester  sat  down  beside  her. 

"  You  have  come  at  last,  Miss  Hunter,"  he  said,  re- 
proachfully. "  I  began  to  fear  that  those  dismal  excuses 
were  to  continue  forever." 

u  And  if  they  continued  ever  so  long,  you  ought  to  be 
the  last  person  to  complain,  considering  in  whose  service 
1  have  been  detained.  You  should  be  in  a  grateful  rather 
than  a  complaining  mood." 

"  Yes,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  apparently  a  little 
rebuked.  "  We  all  feel  a  deep  interest  in  Miss  Julia's 
recovery.  Is  she  better  to-night  ?" 


280  WESTERJS     BORDER    LIFE. 

"  Much  better,  and  will  join  us  below  in  a  day  or  two, 
Is  n't  this  good  news  ?" 

"  It  is,  indeed.  We  shall  all  be  together  once  more,  ?n 
bodily  presence  at  least,"  he  added.  "I  would  we  couiJ 
as  readily  be  united  in  spirit  again." 

"  Has  there  then  been  a  division  ?"  inquired  Fanny. 

"  You  know  that  there  has,  Miss  Fanny ;"  said  Mr. 
Chester.  "Every  thing  is  changed.  Why,  to  me  the 
house  itself  bears  a  different  aspect ;  and  whereas  I  once 
entered  it,  in  all  boldness,  confident  of  a  kind  reception 
and  beaming  smiles,  I  now  come  with  fear  and  trembling, 
doubtful  whether  I  am  welcome  or  no.  The  gate  used  to 
give  a  little  welcome  squeak  when  I  pushed  it  open  ;  the 
lilacs  nodded  their  heads  encouragingly  to  me  as  I  passed, 
and  the  door-bell  jingled  out,  4  Come  in !  come  in !'  But 
now  the  very  gate  sighs  dismally,  the  lilacs  shake  their 
heads,  and  the  bell — well  I  think  every  time  that  it  may  be 
sounding  the  knell  of  my  departed  hopes." 

"Doleful!"  said  Fanny,  with  mock  solemnity.  "Now 
for  the  cause  of  this  distressing  change.  Where  rests 
the  blame  ?  How  shall  we  exorcise  this  evil  spirit  ? 
this  household  sprite,  that  has  been  enticed  under  our 
roof?" 

"  The  fault,  if  there  is  any,"  he  replied,  looking  her  full 
in  the  face,  "  rests  with  one  person,  and  she — "  he  hesi- 
tated* a  moment — "  she  is  too  good  and  lovely  ever  to  do 
any  thing  wrong." 

"  Ah,  now  I  understand,"  thought  Fanny.  "  There  has 
been  a  lover's  quarrel,  and  I  am  to  be  mado  the  mediator. 
Well !  well !  Cousin  Julia  shall  see  that  1  am  truly  her 
friend  after  all."  Then  turning  to  her  companion,  with  a 
beaming  smile,  she  said, 

"  And  if  it  turn  out  to  be  the  fault  of  neither,  but  only 
a  trifling  misunderstanding,  what  then  ?" 


AIISUNDEK  STANDINGS.  281 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  eagerly,  "  we  might  be 
friends  again." 

"And  this  would  raise  you  again  to  the  comfortable 
state  of  mind  you  described  just  now?"  said  Fanny. 

"No — it  would  be  happiness  compared  with  the  cold- 
ness that  has  existed  of  late,  and  I  have  looked  back  with 
inexpressible  regret  to  those  days  of  confidence  and 
friendship,  but  even  those  would  not  satisfy  me  now.  I 
shall  never  rest  in  perfect  content  till  all  uncertainties  are 
done  away,  and  that  day  may  never  come,  or  if  it  come, 
may  plunge  me  into  utter  despair." 

44 1  do  not  understand  you,  Mr.  Chester,"  said  Fanny. 
He  had  spoken  so  seriously  that  she  gave  up  her  jesting 
tone. 

"  May  I  explain  my  meaning  ?"  he  said,  and  then  without 
waiting  for  her  reply,  continued,  "  I  am  so  happy,  I  would 
have  said  a  week  ago,  so  w^happy  now,  as  to  be  deeply  and 
irrecoverably  in  love.  I  fancied,  nay,  in  my  presumption, 
I  felt  almost  certain,  that  the  feeling  was  returned,  but  in 
those  happy  days  I  delayed  to  bring  matters  to  a  crisis, 
and  now  I  dare  not,  for  my  certainty  has  changed  into  the 
most  distressing  doubts." 

"  Are  they  not  engaged  then,  after  all  ?"  thought  Fanny. 
44  How  wrong  in  Cousin  Julia  not  to  have  denied  it,  and 
we  ail  thinking  it  a  settled  thing." 

His  anxious  face  recalled  her,  and  she  blushed  under  his 
gaze,  to  think  that  she  had  cast  reproach  upon  her,  whom 
he  considered  perfection  itself. 

"  Do  you  not  see  why  every  thing  here  is  changed  to 
me,  why  I  dread  to  come,  and  yet  can  not  stay  away  ?" 

44  Has  she  been  unkind,  then  ?"  said  Fanny. 

"Is  not  indifference  and  neglect  sometimes  worse  than 
actual  unkindness,  Miss  Fanny  ?" 

She  remembered  how  his  own  coldness  had  grieved  her 


2bL  WESTERN    BOBBER    LIFE. 

awhile  ago,  and  answered  faintly  enough  in  the  affirma- 
tive. 

"  You  are  sorry  for  me,"  he  continued,  "  I  see  it  in 
your  face.  O,  Fanny!  Miss  Hunter!  can  you- give  me 
any  hope  ?" 

His  tone  so  tender,  so  passionate,  thrilled  her  to  the 
heart,  and  struggling  to  retain  her  self-possession,  she 
turned  her  face  from  him.  "  O,  dear  !  why  of  all  others 
must  he  choose  her  for  his  confidante,  and  pour  into  her 
ears  the  story  of  his  love  for  another — and  that  other ! 
Well,  any  one  with  half  an  eye  could  see  that  she  was  dy- 
ing to  hear  the  words  he  felt  so  afraid  to  speak.  Afraid  ! 
She  would  say  yes,  and  thank  you  too  in  a  minute. 
Should  she  tell  him  so  at  once,  and  end  this  ridiculous 
scene.  No,  that  would  be  unkind  to  Julia,  but  she  would 
givo  him  to  understand  as  delicately  as  possible,  that  he 
had  no  occasion  to  despair,  encourage  him  to  make  the  de- 
cish  e  declaration,  and  thus  speedily  settle  matters  between 
ther  i." 

"  \  see,"  he  said  sadly,  as  she  turned  toward  him  again, 
"  thr\t  you  have  nothing  to  say." 

"  You  see  no  such  thing,"  said  Fanny,  smiling  ;  u  I  have 
something  to  say,  and  if  I  seem  trifling  and  unsympa- 
thizmg  now,  it  is  because  I  view  this  whole  matter  in  a 
hopeful  light.  I  am  weary  of  these  doubts  and  fears,  and 
tell  you  in  all  confidence,  that  if  you  will  folio  winy  advice, 
they  shall  disappear  directly.  Can  you  trust  me  ?" 

"  With  my  whole  heart,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Then,"  said  Fanny,  raising  her  eyes  calmly  to  his  face, 
u  cast  all  these  fears  of  yours  to  the  winds,  and  in  hope 
and  confidence,  put  the  question  that  shall  decide  your 
fate  at  once." 

"  Do  you  advise  me  to  this  step  ?"  said  Harry  Chester, 
his  face  flushing  with  sudden  surprise  and  pleasure. 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS.  283 

"  I  do,"  said  Fanny.  It  was  hard,  after  all,  to  meet  that 
beaming  look. 

"And  it  shall  not  end  in  disappointment?" 

"  In  a  blissful  certainty,"  said  Fanny,  smiling. 

"Heaven  bless  you  for  those  words!  Fanny,  dear 
Fanny!"  he  caught  her  hand,  and  pressed  it  passionately 
to  his  lips. 

Had  he  fallen  dead  at  her  feet,  her  face  could  scarce 
have  undergone  a  more  sudden  change.  She  snatched 
away  her  hand  and  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  flashing 
with  anger,  and  the  red  blood  crimsoning  her  fair  face 
into  a  deep  blush. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  How  dare  you  insult  me  thus  ?" 
she  said  rapidly. 

In  the  extremity  of  surprise,  he  too  had  risen,  and  they 
stood  confronting  each  other,  she  in  insulted  dignity,  and 
he  in  perfect  bewilderment,  as  to  what  it  all  meant. 

"  How  dare  you  treat  me  so  ?"  she  repeated,  tears  of 
pride  and  mortification  tilling  her  eyes. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?"  he  asked.  "  I  would  cut  off 
my  right  hand  rather  than  give  you  pain.  Do  you  not 
believe  me  ?" 

She  could  not  well  disbelieve  it,  with  that  anxious  face 
before  her,  and  the  angry  flush  gradually  left  her  own. 

"  Then,"  he  said,  interpreting  the  change  in  her  coun- 
tenance as  »f  she  had  spoken,  "  if  in  the  first  flush  of  de- 
light your  own  words  gave  me,  I  frightened  you  by  my 
vehemence,  forgive  me;  and  O!  Fanny,  repeat  them. 
Tell  me  once  more  that  I  have  not  loved  you  so  long  in 
vain." 

"Me!"  said  Fanny,  losing  every  other  feeling  in  that 
of  intense  surprise.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  Of  whom 
have  you  been  speaking  ?" 

"Of  you,  Fanny.     I  have  never  loved  any  one  else." 


284  .rESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

She  gave  him  a  look  full  of  surprise  and  eager  inquiry. 

"I  thought — they  told  me — Cousin  Julia,"  she  stain 
mered. 

"Who  told  you,  and  what,  Fanny?"  he  said,  gently. 
44  What  strange  mistake  is  this  that  perplexes  you  ?" 

"  I  always  supposed  you  engaged  to  her,  Mr.  Chester^1 
said  Fanny,  frankly. 

It  was  his  turn  to  look  surprised  now. 

"  Engaged !"  he  said.  "  Engaged  to  Julia  Stanton  !  Is 
it  possible,  Fanny  ?  Could  you  imagine  such  a  thing  for 
a  moment,  when  you  must  have  seen  that  I  was  striving 
in  every  way  to  win  your  love  ;"  and  then,  as  overcome  by 
the  strange  developments  of  this  interview,  Fanny  sank 
down  upon  the  sofa,  he  continued  earnestly,  "  will  you 
believe  me  when  I  solemnly  declare  to  you  again,  that  I 
have  never  loved  any  one  but  you,  and  that  in  you  lies 
the  power  to  make  me  happy  or  miserable." 

He  waited  for  her  reply,  while  trembling  and  astonished 
she  could  hardly  keep  back  her  tears.  At  this  moment 
Mrs.  Stanton  entered,  and  Fanny,  a  poor  dissembler  at 
best,  finding  it  impossible  to  control  her  agitation,  hastily 
left  the  room. 

As  she  passed  the  door  of  Julia's  chamber,  the  young 
lady  called  her  in  ;  and  striving  to  hide  her  agitation, 
Fanny  paused  at  the  threshold  to  see  what  was  wanted. 

"  O,  come  in,"  said  Cousin  Julia,  in  a  fretful  tone ; 
"  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  away  from  me.  I  want 
to  hear  about  your  pleasant  interview ;"  and  then,  with  ^ 
searching  look  at  Fanny's  flushed  cheeks  and  tearful  eyes, 
she  continued  tauntingly,  uah!  something  exciting,  I  see. 
Come,  tell  us  all  about  it !" 

"  Incuse  me,  Julia,"  said  Fanny,  "  some  other  time," 
and  she  turned  toward  the  door,  near  which  she  was 
stan  ling. 


M  IS  U  N  I   ER  SI  A  N  I)  I  N  G  S.  285 

"No,  no,  you  shall  stay  now,"  said  Julia;  and  then 
seeing  that  Fanny  was  still  intent  upon  leaving  the  room, 
she  sprang  forward  in  spite  of  her  lame  foot,  and  standing ' 
in  the  doorway,  prevented  her  from  going. 

"  You  shall  stay  now?  she  repeated,  with  sudden  vio- 
lence. "  This  has  been  going  on  long  enough,  and  now  I 
will  know  what  it  all  means." 

Her  listener  was  so  astonished  at  the  angry  vehemence 
with  which  she  spoke,  that  she  knew  not  how  to  reply. 

"You  may  look  as  innocent  as  you  please,"  she  con- 
tinued, "but  you  know  perfectly  well  what  I  mean.  You 
dare  not  deny  that  you  have  been  working  in  an  under- 
hand way  ever  since  you  came  into  this  house." 

"Julia,"  said  Fanny,  calmly,  "I  don't  in  the  least  un- 
derstand what  you  mean ;  but  it  is  unworthy  of  you  to 
talk  in  this  way,  and  I  can  not  listen  to  you.  Will  you 
let  me  pass  ?" 

"  You  do  know.  You  do  understand,"  said  the  young 
lady,  with  increasing  warmth.  "  Don't  you  think  that  I 
have  seen  through  your  soft  ways  and  pretended  friend- 
ships ?  I  tell  you,  Fanny  Hunter,  you  have  kept  one  ob- 
ject in  view  ever  since  you  came  here,  and  if  you  go  away 
without  its  accomplishment,  it  will  not  be  for  want  of  per- 
severance and  labor.  I  have  borne  it  in  silence  long 
enough,  and  now  I  will  speak.  I  tell  you  again,  that  you 
know  perfectly  well  what  I  mean." 

There  was  nothing  like  guilty  consciousness  in  Fanny's 
eyes,  as  she  gazed  earnestly  at  the  angry  girl,  but  a  look 
of  grieved  surprise,  as  thotigh  shocked  and  hurt,  rather 
than  angered  at  the  charge. 

"Julia, '  she  said,  "  what  I  have  done  to  vex  you  I  do 
not  know ;  but  this  I  can  say :  if  I  know  my  own  heart, 
it  contains  none  but  the  kindest  feelings  toward  you ;  nor 
would  I  knowingly  injure  you  in  the  slightest  way." 


286  WESTERN     BORDEK     LIFE. 

"  O,  no,  you  have  manifested  the  most  disinterested 
regard  for  me,"  said  Julia,  bitterly. 

"  What  have  I  done?"  said  Fanny.  "What  is  it  that 
has  vexed  you  so  ?" 

"  What  have  you  done !"  said  the  young  lady,  her  pale 
f ice  flushing  crimson.  "  You  have  been  trying  to  steal 
away  the  heart  of  the  only  man  I  ever  loved,  when  it  was 
all  mine,  till  you  came  between  us  with  your  baby  lace. 
That  you  would  call  an  act  of  friendship,  perhaps." 

"Julia,"  said  Fanny,  all  her  womanly  pride  aroused  by 
this  cruel  charge.  "You  know  that  it  is  false.  Your 
own  heart  must  tell  you,  that  you  are  wronging  me, 
When  I  avoided  his  society,  and  ran  the  risk  of  losing  his 
friendship  entirely,  by  my  coldness  and  indifference,  did 
this  look  like  working  in  an  underhand  way  to  gain  hia 
affections  ?  I  have  given  all  my  influence  in  your  favor, 
and  oh,  Julia  !  how  could  you  think  so  meanly  of  me  as 
to  imagine  that  I  would  cherish  such  a  design  for  one 
moment,  supposing  as  I  did,  until  this  evening,  that  you 
were  solemnly  engaged  to  Mr.  Chester." 

"  And  who  told  you  I  was  not  ¥"  said  Julia,  turning  pale 
again. 

"  He  told  me  himself,"  said  Fanny. 

Julia  gazed  at  her  a  moment.  "  He  told  you  himself," 
she  repeated  bitterly,  an  expression  of  rage  and  scorn 
crossing  her  beautiful  features.  "You?  and  what  more 
he  told  you  I  can  see,  in  your  tell-tale  face.  Go,"  she 
said,  stepping  aside,  "  go,  I  never  want  to  see  you  again." 

She  leaned,  pale  and  trembling,  against  the  door- way. 

"Julia,"  said  Fanny,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  "for- 
give me  if  I  have  spoken  harshly.  O  do  not  let  us  part 
in  anger." 

Julia  again  motioned  her  toward  the  door,  and  slowly 
and  sadly  she  left  the  room.  Seeking  the  quiet  of  h»:r 


MISUNDERSTANDINGS.  287 

own  chamber,  Fanny  sat  down  in  such  a  whirl  of  excite- 
ment, that  she  could  hardly  think  at  all.  With  a  feeling 
of  sincere  sorrow  and  pity  for  Julia's  unhappiness,  there 
was  mingled  a  confuted  sense  of  joy,  of  a  consciousness  of 
some  great  happiness  that  had  suddenly  come  upon  her, 
and  which,  though  ?louded  by  the  remembrance  of  those 
;M'iiel  reproaches,  was  still  spreading  a  sunny  influence 
over  her  heart.  He  was  free,  and  had  spoken  words,  the 
import  of  which  could  not  be  mistaken.  She  thought  no 
further  than  this ;  the  present  joy  was  all  that  she  could 
bear;  and  when,  at  last,  Nanny  came  in  to  talk  awhile  be- 
fore going  to  bed,  she  was  met  by  such  a  beaming  smile, 
ay  she  had  not  seen  on  Fanny's  face  for  many  days. 

"  Only  one  day  more,  Miss  Fanny,"  she  said,  as  she 
\  >se  to  retire,  "  only  one  more  day,  and  we  shall  start  for 
the  prairie  again.  The  corn  must  be  a  foot  high  by  this 
time,  and  plenty  of  lettuco  and  asparagus  in  the  garden. 
Oh,  what  would  keep  me  n  this  hot  city  all  summer,  I 
wonder  1" 


CHAPTER    XXV11I. 

UUP      THE      COUNTRY." 

THE  next  day  was  spent  in  preparations  f.r  their  de- 
parture, and  though  Fanny  sought  eagerly  for  an  oppor- 
tunity to  speak  with  Julia  alone,  it  grieving  her  much  to 
part  with  her  in  her  present  state  of  feeling,  the  young 
lady  took  particular  pains  to  avoid  an  interview.  Fanny 
thought  she  appeared  a  little  ashamed  of  last  night's  vio- 
lence, and  once  or  twice  her  eyes  fell  before  Fanny's 
anxious  look ;  certain  it  was,  she  treated  her  with  strict 
politeness,  and  in  no  outwrard  manner  exhibited  a  trace  of 
the  feeling  she  had  so  lately  manifested. 

The  day  seemed  very  long  to  Fanny,  and  when,  in  tne 
evening,  two  or  three  visitors  dropped  in,  each  jingle  of 
the  door-bell  made  her  start.  It  was  unusual  for  Fanny 
to  be  nervous.  Was  it  for  Mr.  Tom  Walton  that  she  was 
looking?  That  personage  made  his  appearance  in  the 
course  of  the  evening,  and  invited  the  young  ladies  to  ride 
up  to  the  prairie  in  his  new  buggy,  informing  them  with 
considerable  pride,  that  he  had  purchased  the  span  of 
gray?,  and  intended  to  take  them  up  the  next  day. 

To  Nanny's  great  surprise,  Fanny  gently  but  decidedly 
declined  bis  invitation  for  herself,  referring  him  to  Miss 
Nanny  to  answer  on  her  account.  He  seemed  greatly 
astonished,  and  a  little  offended,  but  did  not  condescend 
to  urge  the  matter,  or  even  to  give  Nanny  the  oppor 
tunity  to  decline  also. 


"UP    THE     COUNTRY ."  289 

4  Why,  Miss  Fanny,  how  could  you  ?"  said  Naur*^,  after 
he  had  gone.  "  Only  think  of  riding  up  in  his  beautiful 
buggy,  instead  of  that  old  lumbering  stage.  Why,  all 
the  girls  on  the  prairie  would  know  it,  and  be  just  as  jealous 
of  us  as  could  be.  How  came  you  to  do  it,  Miss  Fanny  ?" 

"Because  I  didn't  like  to  be  under  obligations  to  Mr. 
Walton  for  such  a  long  ride,  Nanny,  and  besides,  I  really 
prefer  going  in  the  stage." 

"Well,  that's  funny,  when  we  could  go  in  half  the 
time,  and  in  such  crank  style,  too.  I  reckon  you  never 
will  get  the  chance  again,  for  he  seemed  real  put  out 
about  it.  But  there !  do  you  reckon  Harry  Chester  is 
going  to  let  us  go  off  without  so  much  as  bidding  us  good- 
by.  He  knows  we  start  early  in  the  morning,  for  I  told 
him  so  myself." 

Fanny  was  revolving  the  same  question  in  her  own 
mind,  and  could  find  no  satisfactory  reason  why  the  young 
gentleman  did  not  come.  The  evening  passed,  however, 
and  early  in  the  morning  our  country  guests  took  their 
departure.  Fanny  receiving  a  warm  embrace  from  Mrs. 
Stanton,  and  a  cordial  shake  of  the  hand,  and  a  u  God 
bless  you,  Fanny  !"  from  the  judge. 

A  couple  of  hours  after  they  had  gone,  Mr.  Chester 
called.  He  found  Julia  alone  in  the  parlor,  and  learned 
to  his  great  astonishment  that  the  ladies  had  departed. 

"Gone!"  he  repeated.  "The  judge  told  me  they 
would  remain  another  day.  I  inquired  particularly,  for 
though  I  was  called  out  of  town  upon  urgent  business,  I 
\\ould  have  put  it  into  other  hands,  and  remained,  had  I 
supposed  it  was  'my  last  opportunity  of  seeing  them. 
How  could  the  judge  have  made  such  a  mistake  ?" 

"  I  believe  I  told  papa  yesterday,  that  they  were  to  re- 
main another  day;  but  they  afterward  changed  their 
minds,"  said  Julia. 

13 


'290  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

He  seemed  greatly  disappointed,  and  sustained  his  part 
of  the  conversation  in  an  awkward,  absent-minded  manner, 
until  Julia  turned  it  upon  their  late  visitors,  and  more 
particularly  upon  Fanny.  She  spoke  of  her  intelligence 
and  pleasing  manners,  etc.,  etc.,  till  his  listlessness  was  all 
gone,  and  he  responded  eagerly  to  all  that  she  said. 

"  Yes,  she  is  a  sweet  girl,"  said  Julia,  "  what  a  pity  it  ia 
that  she  is  engaged." 

"  Engaged  !"  said  Harry  Chester,  with  a  start. 

"  Yes,  certainly.  Did  ri't  you  know  it  ?  To  a  young 
theological  student,  or  a  minister,  back  there  in  Connec- 
ticut. It  seems  a  pity.  She  might  do  so  much  better 
here.  There's  young  Strong,  I  think  appeared  to  admire 
her  very  much  ;  and,  indeed,  she  is  a  favorite  with  most 
gentlemen." 

"Miss  Julia,  are  you  sine  that  this  is  so?"  said  Mr, 
Chester.  "  Such  reports  are  so  unreliable." 

4(1  This  about  her  engagement?  O,  yes!  there  is  n't  a 
shadow  of  a  doubt.  She  has  received  letters  regularly 
from  him  all  winter,  Nanny  says,  and  indeed  she  makes  no 
secret  of  it  herself." 

"  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  this  before  ?"  he  said,  almost 
angrily. 

"  Why,  really,  Mr.  Chester,  I  did  n't  imagine  the  intel- 
ligence would  have  aifected  you  so  deeply.  I  would  have 
spared  your  feelings  still,"  said  Julia,  with  a  wicked  smile. 

The  raillery  seemed  more  than  he  could  bear.  He 
paced  the  room  a  moment  with  rapid  steps,  and  then  bid 
ding  her  a  good-morning,  left  the  house. 

She  watched  him  down  the  steps,  and  turned  away 
from  the  window,  with  the  same  wicked  smile  upon  her 
lips. 

The  farm-wagon  that  bore  our  travelers  from  Belcher's 
store  to  their  home  on  La  Belle  Prairie,  wound  its  way 


UUP     THE     COUNTKY."  291 

along  the  smooth  road,  arid  down  the  little  hill  leading  to 
the  creek.  It  was  after  sunset,  and  the  soft  air  was  full 
of  the  fragrance  of  the  prairie  flowers,  while  the  trees  by 
the  creek,  hung  heavy  with  their  rich  foliage.  Nature 
had  clothed  the  prairie  in  its  summer  attire  ;  and  the 
change  from  the  nakedness  of  winter,  and  the  scanty  ver- 
dure of  spring,  to  the  full  luxuriance  of  summer,  wras  very 
great ;  and  Fanny,  gazing  around  her,  and  drawing  in 
great  draughts  of  country  air,  thought  that  La  Belle 
Prairie  had  never  so  well  deserved  its  name. 

They  had  crossed  the  creek,  and  were  just  entering 
ipon  the  little  patch  of  woods  this  side,  when  a  child's 
voice  called  them  to  stop,  and  a  moment  after  little  Maud> 
with  her  hands  full  of  flowers,  suddenly  appeared  in  the 
patli  before  them.  They  waited  for  her  to  scramble  into 
the  wagon,  which  she  had  no  sooner  done,  than  dropping 
her  flowers,  she  threw  both  arms  round  Fanny's  neck, 
and  kissing  and  hugging  her,  burst  into  tears. 

"  O,  Miss  Fanny,  I  'm  so  glad  !"  she  sobbed. 

Fanny  pressed  the  affectionate  child  to  her  heart,  and 
almost  cried  with  her,  while  Mr.  Catlett  and  Nanny 
seemed  quite  at  a  loss  to  understand  the  scene. 

"Well,  I  declare,"  said  the  squire,  "to  see  that,  now 
when  the  young  one  has  been  counting  the  days  and  hours 
till  Miss  Fanny  came  back ;  to  meet  her  in  that  way  cry- 
ing away  as  if  she  was  sorry." 

"It '3  just  because  I'm  so  glad,  Miss  Fanny,  ain't  it?" 
said  Maud,  with  another  hug. 

"  Have  you  been  waiting  for  us  here  all  alone,  Maud  ?" 
said  Fanny. 

"  Yes.  You  see  the  girls  would  have  come  with  me  if 
I  had  told  'em,  but  somehow  I  wanted  to  see  you  first 
myself.  Was  that  selfish,  Miss  Fanny  ?" 

There  was  no  selfishness  in  the  little,  beaming,  upturned 


292  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

face,  and  Fanny  only  pressed  the  child  closer  to  her 
heart. 

u  O,  there 's  my  flowers,  Miss  Fanny !  I  forgot  all 
about  them.  See,  I  made  a  wreath  for  you  to  wear,  you 
know,  'cause  we  must  crown  you  when  you  first  come 
home.  O,  we  have  wanted  you  back  so  bad." 

"  And  Aunt  Phebe  ?"  whispered  Fanny,  as  she  allowed 
the  child  to  arrange  the  wreath  of  wild  flowers  on  her 
bonnet,  "is  she  well?" 

Maud  shook  her  head.  "  Miss  Fanny,  aunty's  get  tin'  too 
good  to  stay  here.  O,  I  wish  she  did  n't  want,  to  go,  and 
then  mebbe  we  could  keep  her." 

There  was  abundance  of  shouting  and  rejoicing  when 
the  farm-wagon  drove  up  the  lane,  and  in  the  joyous  wel- 
come they  received  from  all,  and  in  the  abundance  of  good 
cheer  brought  forth  for  the  occasion,  our  wanderers  were 
pretty  well  convinced,  that  after  all  there  was  no  suoh 
place  as  "  La  Belle  Prairie." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE     GERM     SPROUTS. 

in  the  world  has  come  over  that  girl?"  said 
Mrs.  Catlett  one  day,  as  Martha  left  the  room,  slamming 
the  door  behind  her ;  "  I  declare  I  'm  completely  worn 
out  by  her  tantrums ;  and  if  I  so  much  as  speak  to  her, 
she  glares  at  me  with  those  great  ugly  eyes  of  hers,  till 
I  'm  actually  afraid  of  her.  And  Mr.  Catlett,  he  won't  do 
the  first  thing  to  help  me,  'cause  he  says  I  must  see  to  the 
house-servants  myself.  O,  dear !  I  reckon  you  've  found 
out  by  this  time,  Miss  Fanny,  that  I  'm  more  of  a  slave 
than  any  body  on  the  place,  niggers  not  excepted." 

"  Ma,  it 's  your  own  fault,"  said  Nanny ;  "  you  give  'em 
such  a  free  run,  that  they  jaw  at  you  to  your  face,  and 
make  faces  behind  your  back.  If  you  only  kept  as  snug 
a  rope  now  as  Madam  Gamby,  you  'd  get  along  easy  with 
'em  all.  That  girl  did  n't  used  to  be  hard  to  manage. 
I  've  seen  a  great  many  worse." 

"  Well,  she 's  powerful  ugly  now,  Nanny,"  said  Cal ; 
"  you  don't  know  how  she  's  carried  on  since  you  've  been 
gone.  You  ought  to  have  seen  her  shake  the  baby  the 
other  day,  when  she  thought  nobody  was  nigh.  O,  my  i 
She  looked  like  she  could  tear  her  eyes  out  and  feel  the 
better  for  it.  Ma,  you  don't  know  how  her  eyes  did 
glare." 

"  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett ;  "it 's  really  dangerous  to 
have  the  girl  round.  I  believe  she  'd  do  the  baby  a  mis- 


294  WESTERN     BOEDER    LIFE- 

chief  any  time  she  could  get  a  good  chance.  Sweet  little 
innocent !  Mamma's  b'inch  of  love  !" 

"  You  see,  Nanny,  if  you  '11  believe  it,  she  has  n't  got 
over  moping  for  that  Tilla's  dyin'  yet,"  said  Cal ;  "  and 
somehow,  she  feels  a  kind  of  spite  against  us  all,  as  if  we 
were  to  blame  for  it.  and  the  baby  more  than  any  body 
else." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Nanny,  "  I  was  n't  so  dreadful 
sorry  when  that  young  one  died.  She  never  was  of  much 
account,  and  I  don't  reckon  ever  would  be ;  and,  as  pa 
said,  it  was  kind  of  a  disgrace  to  have  such  an  ashy  nig- 
ger round." 

"  O,  Nanny !"  said  Fanny,  "  don't  talk  so.  She  was 
every  thing  to  Martha ;  and  I  think  wre  ought  to  make 
some  allowance  for  her  just  now.  She  really  seems  to  be 
beside  herself  since  Tilla  died.  I  'm  sure,  Mrs.  Catlett, 
she  used  to  be  one  of  the  best-natured,  obedient  house- 
servants  that  you  had." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  but  she  did  do  as  well  as  any  of 
5em,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett;  "they  are  all  bad  enough,  and 
now  she  's  worse  than  all  the  rest  put  together." 

"  O,  Miss  Fanny !"  said  Maria,  at  this  moment  burst- 
ing into  the  room,  "just  see  your  beautiful  new  lawn 
frock.  It 's  all  tore  to  slits." 

There  was  a  general  exclamation  of  surprise  as  'Ria  held 
up  the  tattered  garment,  a  pretty  spotted  muslin,  which 
Fanny  had  finished  the  day  before,  and  laid  away  up  the 
new  room  stairs  for  safe  keeping. 

"  Where  did  you  find  it  ?  How  did  it  happen  ?  Who 
could  be  so  mean  ?"  were  the  questions  eagerly  put,  while 
Fanny  stood  silently  gazing  upon  her  ruined  property. 

"  It 's  that  awful  Marthy,  I  know  it  is,"  said  Cal. 

"  Why  you  see,  ma,"  said  'Ria,  "  a  little  while  back  I  see 
Marthy  come  out  of  here,  slammin'  the  door  shut  Mke  she 


THE    GE1IM    SPROUTS.  293 

was  mad,  and  then  go  creepin'  up  the  new  room  stairs, 
where  you  told  her  never  to  go,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  fol- 
low her,  and  see  what  she  was  up  to.  Well,  when  I  got 
to  the  door,  there  she  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room/ 
with  Miss  Fanny's  beautiful  new  frock  in  her  hands,  tear 
in'  a  great  slit  in  it,  and  when  I  called  out  to  her  to  stop, 
she  just  looked  at  me  like  she  'd  take  my  head  off,  and  she 
put  it  between  her  teeth,*and  tore  at  it  with  her  claws, 
and  stamped  on  it  with  her  great  feet  like  a  wild  cat,  as 
she  is.  I  never  should  have  got  her  off,  if  Maud  had  n't 
helped  me.  Lors !  I  thought  I  should  have  died  laughin', 
for  all  I  was  so  mad,  to  see  Maud  fly  at  her.  She  made 
the  wool  fly,  I  tell  you." 

"  You  think  we  had  better  make  allowance  for  her,  don't 
you,  Miss  Fanny?"  said  Nanny.  "A  pretty  subject  for 
pity,  ain't  she  ?" 

"O  dear,  dear!  Miss  Fanny's  beautiful  new  gown;  it 
ain't  good  for  nothin',"  said  little  Joy.  "  Now  you  can't 
wear  it  to  meetin'  next  Sunday,  can  you,  Miss  Fanny  ?" 

"There!  Come  in  here,  you  mean,  hateful,  horrid, 
spiteful  creature,  you,"  cried  a  voice  in  the  passage,  and 
presently  Maud  appeared  with  a  flushed  face  and  flashing 
eyes,  pushing  Martha  before  her ;  "  I  hope  they  '11  whip 
you  awfully,  I  do.  If  I  \?»s  a  grown  woman,  I  'd  whip 
you  almost  to  death." 

"  Maud,  behave  yourself,"  said  her  mother,  "  and  leave 
the  girl  alone." 

"I  won't  then,  ma  !"  said  the  child  ;  "  you  don't  know 
half  her  badness,  to  spite  Miss  Fanny  so ;  the  very  best 
friend  she's  got  in  the  world;  always  takm'  her  part,  and 
makin'  excuses  for  her,  when  we  told  over  her  pranks.  O, 
you  feel  crank  now,  don't  you,  when  you've  spoiled  hei 
prettiest  gown,  and  made  her  feel  so  bad  ?  You — you— 
O  how  I  hate  you."  . 


296  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  Maud  !  Maud !  for  pity's  sake  stop !"  said  Fanny, 
"  I  would  rather  lose  a  dozen  gowns  than  have  you  say 
such  dreadful  things." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Miss  Fanny.     Tt  's  in  me,  and  I  must . 
talk  it  out.     O,  I  do  hate  her,  and  I  know  it  ain't  wicked 
to  hate  such.     Well,  Miss  Fanny,  I  will  try  to  quit,  if  you 
look  at  me  that  way,  only  it 's  true,  every  word  of  it,  just 
as  true  as  the  Bible." 

Meanwhile,  the  object  of  this  indignation,  still  grasping 
a  fragment  of  the  torn  dress  in  her  hand,  stood  gazing 
from  one  to  another  of  the  speakers,  with  a  look  of  sullen 
malignity  upon  her  face,  that  gave  little  token  of  repent- 
ance for  what  she  had  done.  There  had,  indeed,  been  a 
remarkable  change  in  the  girl.  At  Tilla's  death,  every 
good  and  hopeful  feeling  of  her  nature  seemed  to  have 
taken  its  departure.  Her  step  lost  its  elasticity,  her  voice 
its  cheerful  tone,  and  from  a  careless,  good-natured  crea- 
ture, who  went  singing  about  her  work,  and  brought  upon 
herself  many  a  scolding  by  her  boisterous  light-heartedness, 
she  suddenly  became  gloomy,  silent,  and  morose,  going 
about  her  daily  tasks  with  a  heavy  step  and  downcast 
look;  or  if  at  some  sharp  rebuke  she  was  roused  a  mo- 
ment from  this  apathy,  there  was  a  flash  in  her  eyes,  and 
an  expression  on  her  face,  that  her  mistress  had  never  seen 
there  before. 

"  I  'm  not  at  all  surprised,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  "  there  's 
nothing  too  bad  for  such  creatures.  But  look  here, 
Marthy,  I  want  to  just  say  to  you,  that  this  ain't  a  goin' 
to  do.  You  haven't  gone  this  while  without  a  trimmin' 
for  nothin'.  I  sha'n't  touch  you.  You  've  got  beyond 
me,  but  perhaps  you  don't  remember  that  you  've  got  a 
master,  and  a  set  one  too,  when  he  undertakes  a  thing. 
I  shall  hand  you  over  to  him,  and  we  '11  see  what  you  '11 
catch  to-morrow  morning.  The  teacher  is  not  to  be  iir 


THE    GEKM    SPROUTS.  297 

suited,  and  have  her  gowns  tore  off  her  back  undei  this 
roof  for  nothin',  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Never  mind  about  the  dress,  Mrs.  Catlett,"  said 
Fanny.  "  Indeed  I  don't  want  her  punished  on  my  ac- 
count." 

"  Are  you  wild,  Fanny  Hunter  ?"  said  Nanny.  "  If 
you  can  sit  still,  and  see  your  best  gowns  tore  to  slits,  I 
can't  and  won't.  Them  sort  of  actions  must  be  stopped 
in  a  hurry.  I  hope  pa  will  take  her  in  hand." 

"  I  'm  sure  she  is  sorry,"  said  Fanny,  anxiously,  "  I 
can't  bear  to  have  her  whipped,  for  any  thing  she  has  done 
to  me.  Let  her  off  this  once,  Mrs.  Catlett,  do." 

"Well,  if  you  ain't  the  strangest  girl,"  said  Nanny. 
"If  anybody  had  worked  me  the  mischief  that  wench  has 
you,  I  reckon  I  would  n't  waste  much  breath  on  her. 
You  have  such  queer  notions." 

"  I  don't  want  her  whipped,"  persisted  Fanny.  "  Come, 
Mrs.  Catlett,  the  offense  was  committed  against  me.  Do 
let  her  off." 

"  Don't  ask  me,"  said  the  lady.  "  I  '11  have  nothin'  to 
do  with  it.  You  must  go  to  Mr.  Catlett.  If,  after  he 
hears  the  story  he  's  a  mind  to  let  her  slip,  he  may.  I 
sha'n't  try  to  whip  her.  But,  as  Nanny  says,  Miss  Fanny, 
you  are  very  foolish  to  waste  your  breath  on  such  crea- 
tures. I'll  be  bound,  now,  you  can't  get  her  to  say  she '« 
sorry  for  what  she  's  done." 

u  Here,  you  Marthy,"  said  Nanny,  "  tell  Miss  Fanny 
you  are  sorry  you  tore  her  gown,  quick  now !" 

The  girl  made  no  answer. 

"  Speak,  you  bad  girl ;"  cried  Maud,  "  don't  you  hear 
Miss  Fanny  takin'  your  part.  You  ought  to  get  right 
down  on  your  knees  this  minute,  and  ask  her  to  forgive 
you." 

"  I  won't,  den,"  said  Martha. 

is* 


298  WESTERN    BOBBER    LIFE. 

The  silence  that  succeeded  this  bold  answer,  was  broken 
by  old  Madam  Hester  in  the  corner  : 

"Well,  of  all  things,"  she  said,  "jest  to  think  of  it* 
She  pawned  off  all  her  mother's  silver  spoons  to  get  up 
that  party,  and  starved  in  a  garret  at  last.  Her  mother 
was  a  Watkins." 

"  Marthy,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  sternly,  "  how  dare  you 
talk  so  to  Miss  Maud  ?" 

"  Dare,"  said  Nanny,  "  she  dare  do  any  thing.  Miss 
Fanny,  there  's  a  sweet  spirit  for  you !  It  looks  like  bein' 
sorry,  don't  it  ?  Now,  then,  for  my  part,  I  '11  be  right  glad 
to  see  her  whipped,  and  pa  's  the  man  that'll  do  it,  too." 

That  evening,  when  Mr.  Catlett  returned  from  the  field, 
Fanny  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  porch. 

"  Can  I  speak  with  you  a  moment,  sir  ?"  she  said. 

"  Well,  ma'am,  I  reckon,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  throwing 
himself  lazily  down  upon  the  bench,  "what's  wantin' 
now  ?" 

Fanny  briefly  related  the  morning's  occurrence,  and 
concluded  by  requesting  that  Martha  should  not  be  pun- 
ished this  once. 

Mr.  Catlett  had  taken  a  cake  of  tobacco  from  his 
pocket,  and  with  a  penknife  was  leisurely  paring  off  the 
edges.  "  Well,"  he  said,  looking  up  when  she  had  fin- 
ished, "  well  ?" 

"  That 's  all,"  said  Fanny,  "  only  I  hope  you  will  grant 
my  request." 

"  You  do  ?  Well,  now,  why  not  ?"  said  Mr.  Catlett, 
"  'specially  seein'  it 's  so  reasonable.  If  she  'd  come  to 
me,  like  the  other  girls,  for  money  to  buy  new  traps,  cr 
any  thing  of  that  sort,  I  might  stop  to  think  about  it  a 
little;  but,  Lord,  jest  look  at  it!  Why,  says  she,  all  I 
want  is  for  you  to  give  your  niggers  full  swing,  let  'em 
do  all  the  mischief  the  devil  puts  into  their  hearts,  only 


THE    GEfcM    SPROUTS.  299 

promise  never  to  give  'em  a  whippin',  that 's  all  she  wants. 
Look  here,  you  little  Connecticut  school  ma'am,  brought 
up  on  the  Bible  and  Catechism,  did  you  ever  hear  this 
text,  Spare  the  rod,  and  spoil  the  nigger  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Fanny,  laughing. 

"  Well,  it 's  there,  anyhow,  and  you  're  a  pretty  parse  n' 
daughter  to  be  preachin'  up  t'  other  doctrine.  '  Oh,'  saya 
you,  *  bear  patiently  with  'em,  scold  a  little  easy^  some- 
times,  when  they  cut  up  very  bad ;  don't  hurt  their  feel- 
in's,  though,  'cause  they  've  got  hearts  under  their  black 
skins  jest  like  white  folks.'  You  'd  let  em  break  your 
dishes,  and  tear  your  nice  traps,  and  raise  hob  generally 
on  the  place,  and  when  it  came,  to  whippin' — c  Oh,  Mr 
Catlett,'  says  you,  'don't!  don't!  it's  such  a  dreadful 
thing,'  and  off  you  go  into  hysterics,  or  a  cat-fit,  or  some- 
thing about  as  bad." 

"  Nonsense,  Mr.  Catlett !  you  don't  know  me." 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  and  if  that  little  chicken  heart  of  yours 
was  half  as  tough  as  a  nigger's  hide,  you'd  get  through 
the  world  easier.  Bless  you,  child,  a  whippin'  's  nothin' 
to  'em,  they  are  made  to  be  whipped.  They  need  it  jest 
as  much  as  my  sheep  need  shearin',  only  a  mighty  deal 
oftener.  There,  don't  look  so  solemn  about  it.  Mass' 
Jack  ain't  the  worst  master  in  the  world,  if  he  is  'trab- 
blin'  de  broad  road,'  as  Aunt  Phebe  says.  Come  on, 
now,  let 's  have  some  supper." 

"  But  you  don't  promise,  Mr.  Catlett,"  said  Fanny. 

"  There,  you  are  at  it  again.  I  never  saw  any  tiling 
like  it.  There 's  no  use  arguing  with  a  woman.  You  may 
give  her  a  dozen  reasons  why  you  can't  do  a  thing,  and 
nary  one  of  'em  will  she  hear  to,  but  fly  right  back  to 
where  she  started  from.  No,  ma'am,  I  don't  promise, 
and  I  don't  mean  to,  neither.  There,  now,  is  that 
enough." 


800  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

ult  ought  to  be,  perhaps,"  said  Fanny,  "  but  at  the 
risk  of  making  you  angry,  I  must  say  a  word  more.  1 
shall  not  sleep  a  wink  to-night,  if  I  think  that  girl  is  to  be 
whipped  in  the  morning,  for  tearing  up  one  of  my  dresses. 
Mr.  Catlett,  if  you  should  tell  Martha  distinctly  that  it 
was  only  as  a  favor  to  me  that  you  forgave  her,  and  that 
another  such  act  would  certainly  be  punished,  would  it  do 
any  harm  or  injure  your  discipline  ?" 

"  O  no,  not  in  the  least,"  said  Mr.  Catlett.  "  Of  course 
they  wouldn't  chuckle  over  it,  and  go  on  cuttin'  up  all  the 
tantrums  they  please,  knowin'  that  there,  's  a  little  chicken- 
hearted  abolitionist  on  the  place,  that  could  n't  bear  to 
hear  a  nigger  squeal,  and  so  kept  hangin'  round  a  feller 
till  he  promised  what  she  wanted,  jest  to  get  rid  of  her 
little  teazin'  face.  Come,  come,  Miss  Fanny,  you  are 
prime  in  your  line.  Jest  keep  on  with  the  white  children, 
and  let  all  these  darkeys  alone.  I  believe  that 's  what  I 
got  you  here  for." 

"  One  moment,  Mr.  Catlett,"  said  Fanny,  as  he  rose  to 
go.  "  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  accuse  me  of  interfering 
in  what  does  not  belong  to  me.  You  know  the  offense 
was  committed  against  me,  and  it  was  my  property  that 
was  injured.  I  thought  I  might  properly  have  u  voice  in 
the  matter.  Besides,  I  preferred  my  request  as  a  per- 
sonal favor,  with  all  due  submission  to  you  as  master.  I 
think  it  was  quite  enough  to  refuse  me,  without  reproach- 
>ng  me  with  an  an  attempt  to  manage  — " 

"  Now,  there 's  dignity  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Catlett. 
"  Who  accused  you  of  any  thing,  I  should  like  to  know  ? 
Well !  well !  that  '11  do  now.  I  ain't  a  bad-natured  feller, 
Miss  Fandango,  and  I  like  you  well  enough  to  do  mosti 
any  thing  you  ask  me,  but  you  see  yourself  it  would  n't  do 
to  let  such  a  thing-  go  unpunished,  or  if  you  don't  see  it 
now,"  he  added,  looking  back  mischievously,  "  when  you 


THE    GERM    SPROUTS.  301 

marry  one  of  our  rich  young  farmers,  and  settle  down  o» 
the  prairie,  take  my  word  for  it,  you  '11  make  one  of  the 
best  managers  in  Missouri.  You,  abolitionists,  once  con- 
verted,  always  make  the  tightest  masters.  You  '11  come 
to  it." 

"  Heaven  forbid !"  said  Fanny,  fervently. 

As  she  rose  to  follow  him,  she  observed  a  dark  figure 
Btart  up  from  a  clump  of  bushes  near  the  porch,  and  steal 
round  the  corner  of  the  house. 

"  Poor  Martha,"  thought  Fanny,  "  poor  Martha." 

The  next  morning  when  Viny  came  up  stairs  with  her 
bucket  of  water,  she  brought  the  intelligence  that  Martha 
was  not  to  be  found. 

"  Where  can  she  be  ?" 

"  Don  'no,  Miss  Fanny.  She  done  clar  out  some  whar, 
I  reckon ;  she  got  scart,  'cause  she  knew  if  Mass'  Jack 
got  hold  ob  her,  she  cotch  it.  Mass'  Jack,  he  don't  lub 
to  whip,  anyhow  ;  but,  Ki,  when  he  does."  Viny  shrug- 
ged her  shoulders  significantly.  "  I  hopes  he  will ;  good 
'nuiF  for  her." 

"  Why,  Viny,  I  thought  you  and  Marthy  were  good 
friends.  You  always  used  to  take  up  for  her,  I  'm  sure, 
What 's  come  over  you  ?"  said  Nanny. 

"  Miss  Nanny,"  said  Viny,  with  a  solemn  shake  of  the 
head,  "  I 's  done  wid  dat  ar  Marthy.  When  she  turn  right 
round,  and  spite  Miss  Car'line,  and  all  her  best  friends, 
den  I  say,  dat  ar  ain't  Marthy,  it 's  de  debble  himself  got 
into  her,  and  de  furder  off  I  keep  de  better,  'cause  mebbe 
he  git  inter  me  too.  No,  Miss  Nanny,  I 's  particular  what 
company  I  keeps."  Viny  set  down  her  bucket  with  great 
energy. 

"  Will  pa  get  the  men  together,  and  go  and  hunt  her 
up  ?"  inquired  'Ria. 

"  No,  I  reckon  not ;"  said  Nanny.     "  They  most  always 


302  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

get  sick  of  it  themselves,  and  come  back  in  two  or  three 
days.  It 's  likely  she 's  not  far  off,  down  yonder  in  the 
woods  somewhere." 

"  She  asked  me  the  way  to  the  river  the  other  day,"  said 
Maud. 

"  She  ?"  said  Viny,  with  uplifted  hands. 

"  She  did  n't  show  her  smartness  there,"  said  Nanny. 
u  A  heap  you  could  tell  her  about  it." 

"Mebbe  I  know  more  than  you  think  for,  Miss  Nanny," 
said  her  sister.  "  I  did  n't  tell  her,  though,  for  aunty  says 
it  's  wicked  to  run  away.  I  told  her  that." 

"You  did?  Well,  you  might  have  told  her  all  you 
knew,  for  the  hurt  that  would  come  of  it.  She  could  n't 
find  her  way  to  the  river  if 't  was  straight  before  her  eyes. 
But,  then,  she  '11  be  back  fast  enough,  there's  no  danger. 
Our  people  all  know  they  don't  better  themselves  by  start- 
in'  off  so.  Come,  Viny,  hook  my  frock,  and  don't  be 
putterin'  round  all  day  about  the  chaniber  work.  I  want 
my  pink  lawn  to  wear  to  church  to-morrow,  and  now 
Marthy's  off,  there  '11  be  more  for  the  rest  of  you  to  do," 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

MARTHA  SENT  OVER  THE  BORDER, 

"Miss  FANNY,"  said  Maud,  as  she  followed  her  teachet 
into  the  garden  after  tea,  "  was  I  so  very  bad  yesterday 
when  I  scolded  Marthy  for  tearin'  your  new  gown  ?  What 
made  you  look  so  sorry  at  me  ?" 

"  I  was  sorry  to  see  you  so  angry,  Maud.  It  is  always 
wrong  to  give  way  to  our  passions." 

"  Well,  must  we  always  look  pleased  with  folks  when 
they  do  such  spiteful  things,"  said  Maud.  "  I  'm  sure, 
Miss  Fanny,  you  must  have  felt  sorry  yourself,  to  see 
your  pretty  new  frock,  that  you  've  worked  at  so  long, 
all  torn  and  spoiled." 

"  I  did  feel  very  sorry,  Maud." 

"  But  you  did  n't  want  her  whipped,  Miss  Fanny  ?" 

"  O,  no ;  I  felt  more  sorry  for  Martha  than  I  did  for 
myself,  though,  as  you  say,  it  was  hard  to  see  my  new 
frock  ruined;  but  only  think  what  unhappy,  wicked  feel- 
ings must  have  been  in  her  heart,  Maud,  to  make  her  do 
such  a  thing.  Would  n't  you  rather  lose  a  frock  than  to 
feel  as  Martha  did,  when  'Ria  found  her  up  the  new  room 
stairs." 

Maud  was  silent. 

"  I  know  you  had,  Maud,  ten  thousand  times.  I  would 
rather  lose  every  thing  I  had  in  the  world,  than  to  lose 
the  control  over  my  bad  passions,  and  sin  against  God  " 


304  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  I  s'pose  you  mean  me,  too,"  said  Maud  in  a  low  voice, 
pushing  the  toe  of  her  shoe  deep  into  the  sand.  "  I  got 
mad  and  felt  wicked  like  Marthy." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  was  thinking  of  Martha  entirely ;  but 
you  don't  need  me  to  tell  you,  that  such  feelings  as  you 
showed  yesterday  were  all  wrong." 

"  Well,  I  was  mad,  Miss  Fanny,  and  I  did  feel  wicked 
and  bad  toward  Marthy ;  but  I  'm  sure  I  could  n't  help  it, 
It  was  enough  to  make  any  body  mad.  It  was  so." 

"  You  have  gained  the  victory  over  such  feelings  before 
now,  Maud." 

"  They  are  all  in  my  heart,  though,  Miss  Fanny ;  I 
don't  think  I  ever  shall  get  'em  out." 

"  You  never  will,  unless  you  pray  to  God  to  help  you, 
my  dear  child.  O !  how  I  want  to  see  you  one  of  those 
*  lambs  of  the  flock,'  that  we  sing  about,  Maud.  A  meek, 
lowly  child  of  the  blessed  Jesus.  Aunty  and  I  are  long- 
ing for  the  time  when  you  will  be  a  Christian." 

Maud  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  dug  her  shoe 
deeper  into  the  sand,  picked  a  marigold  to  pieces,  and  then 
looking  up  shook  her  head. 

"  I  can't  never  be  that,  Miss  Fanny.  There  's  too  much 
badness  in  me." 

"  There  's  more  goodness  and  forgiving  mercy  in  your 
dear  Saviour.  What  is  that  hymn  we  learned  last  Sunday 
about  coming  to  Jesus,  'just  as  I  am.' " 

Maud  repeated  a  verse. 

" '  Just  as  I  am,  without  one  plea, 
Save  that  my  Saviour  died  for  me, 
In  all  my  sin  and  misery, 

0,  Lamb  of  God!  I  come!1 

And  then  there  's  the  big  meetin'  hymn,  you  know,  Miss 
Fanny,  that  says, 


MARTHA     SENT    OVER    THE    BORDER.        305 

a  *  Come,  ye  sinners,  poor  and  needy, 

Lost  and  ruined  by  the  fall, 

If  you  wait  till  you  are  better, 

You  will  never  come  at  all. 

Hallelujah  I 
Sinners  Jesus  came  to  call.* 

But,  Misfe  Fanny,  I  don't  want  to  talk  pious  any  more  to- 
night ;  and  there  's  Dave  now  comin'  from  the  office.  I 
mean  to  go  and  see  if  he  's  got  any  letters,"  and  Maud  ran 
off  as  if  only  too  glad  of  an  excuse  to  get  away. 

Fanny  walked  slowly  up  and  down  the  garden,  a  few 
moments  after  the  child  left  her.  She  thought  about 
Maud  with  her  impulsive  spirit,  and  her  warm,  affection- 
ate heart,  and  sent  up  a  silent  petition,  that  Aunt  Phebe's 
prayers  and  efforts  might  be  crowned,  by  seeing  the  child 
of  her  love  a  Christian  before  she  died;  about  poor  Mar- 
tha and  the  punishment  that  probably  awaited  her ;  and 
then  her  thoughts  recurred  to  herself.  She  felt  strangely 
at  ease  considering  the  uncertain  position  in  which  matters 
stood  between  herself  and  Harry  Chester,  and  smiled  as 
she  thought  of  his  ardent  expression  of  feeling,  followed 
by  this  long  interval,  of  what  one  would  suppose  would 
be,  to  an  earnest  lover,  a  period  of  agonizing  suspense. 
He  certainly  had  made  no  effort  to  ascertain  whether  the 
happiness  or  misery  which  he  had  assured  her  it  was  in 
her  power  to  bestow,  was  to  be  his  lot ;  and  strange  as  it 
may  seem,  Fanny  experienced  none  of  those  heart- flutter- 
ings,  those  alternations  between  hope  and  fear,  so  common 
to  young  ladies  in  similar  circumstances.  She  felt  a  calm 
consciousness  of  possessing  Harry  Chester's  affection,  and 
she  desired  nothing  more. 

In  pleasant,  tranquil  thought,  she  paced  up  and  down 
the  waiks,  till  it  began  to  grow  dark,  then  returned  to 
the  house  in  time  to  hear  Johnny  repeat  the  little  evening 


306  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

prayer  she  had  taught  him,  before  he  went  to  bed.  Then 
Hetty  held  out  her  arms  to  be  taken  up,  and  by  the  time 
she  was  sung  to  sleep  with  "  Little  Bo  Peep"  and  "  Billy 
Boy,"  Dave  was  ready  for  a  game  at  backgammon ;  so 
that  the  short  summer  evening  was  soon  spent,  and  Fan- 
ny thought  no  more  of  Maud  until  bedtime. 

Meanwhile  the  child  wandered  oft*  down  the  lane,  ran 
round  the  back  way  to  give  aunty  a  bunch  of  roses,  and 
while  standing  idly  in  the  doorway  of  the  cabin,  thinking 
that  perhaps  she  had  made  Miss  Fanny  sorry  again,  she 
was  seized  with  a  sudden  idea. 

"I  know  where  she  is,"  she  said  half  aloud;  "  I  '11  bet 
any  thing  she  's  down  by  the  branch,  and  I  mean  to  go 
and  find  her,  and  fetch  her  back.  It  won't  be  dark  this 
long  time  yet." 

Stopping  only  to  tie  up  her  shoe,  and  throw  on  her 
sun-bonnet,  she  started  off  for  the  woods.  The  branch 
was  a  little  stream  or  tributary,  as  its  name  implied,  of 
La  Belle  Creek ;  and  though  on  a  bright  summer  day,  the 
walk  would  not  seem  long,  yet  before  Maud  was  half 
there,  in  the  middle  of  the  thick  woods,  into  which  she 
had  plunged,  night  had  already  descended.  Blacker  and 
blacker  grew  the  shadows  between  the  trees,  and  more 
than  once  the  child  fancied  she  saw  faces  peering  out  at 
her  from  behind  their  trunks,  for  she  was  well  versed  in 
negro  superstitions,  and  many  a  time  had  listened  to 
Viny's  ghost  stories  with  breathless  eagerness. 

It  never  once  occurred  to  her  to  turn  back.  It  was  not 
in  her  nature  to  give  up  any  project  that  she  had  under- 
taken, and  so  though  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  overhead, 
made  her  tremble,  and  once  when  a  bird  started  up  from 
a  bush  in  her  path,  and  nearly  flapped  his  wings  in  her 
face,  she  screamed  aloud,  yet  she  still  pressed  forward. 
Just  where  the  noisy  little  stream  emptied  itself  irto  th? 


MARTHA     SENT     OVER    THE    BORDER.        307 

muddy  waters  of  the  creek,  a  few  of  the  tall  trees  had 
been  cut  down,  and  Maud  was  glad  to  perceive  that  there 
was  still  a  little  daylight  overhead.  She  stopped  long 
enough  to  take  a  refreshing  draught  of  water,  a  broad, 
green  leaf  serving  her  for  a  cup,  and  to  rest  a  moment, 
but  it  was  very  lonely.  The  cricket's  chirp,  and  the 
mournful  notes  of  a  whip-poor-will  in  the  thick  woods, 
were  all  the  sounds  she  could  hear,  and  she  soon  hastened 
along  the  bank  of  the  stream.  A  little  way  up,  at  the 
bend  of  a  steep  hill,  that  skirted  it  on  one  side,  the  force  of 
the  water  during  several  successive  freshets  had  worn 
away  quite  a  hollow,  and  here,  a  year  or  two  before,  a 
runaway  negro  from  Mr.  Turner's  place,  had  built  him- 
self a  rude  hut,  and  found  a  temporary  retreat.  It  was 
almost  in  ruins,  but  still  afforded  a  shelter  from  the 
heavy  night  dews,  which  in  Missouri  begin  to  fall  at  five 
o'clock.  It  was  a  wild,  unfrequented  spot,  too,  with 
water  close  at  hand,  and  this  was  the  place  that  Maud  had 
fixed  upon  as  the  one  to  which  Martha  would  be  likely  to 
resort.  She  was  not  disappointed.  A  pile  of  ashes  and 
brands  upon  which  the  girl  had  baked  her  supper,  was 
smoldering  near  the  door  of  the  hut,  and  upon  some 
dried  grass  and  leaves  within,  the  runaway  was  stretched, 
fast  asleep.  This  Maud  saw,  as  soon  as  her  eyes  had  be- 
come accustomed  to  the  darkness  of  the  place. 

She  lost  not  a  moment,  but  called  her  aloud  by  her 
name.  At  the  first  sound  the  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
catching  up  a  large  club  lying  close  at  her  side,  she  looked 
wildly  round. 

"  O  Lord !  who 's  dat  ?"  she  exclaimed,  as  her  eye  fell 
upon  Maud  in  the  doorway.  . 

"  It 's  only  me,  Marthy !  don't  you  know  me  ?"  said 
Maud. 

The  girl  advanced  a  little  way,  and  stirring  up  the  fire 


308  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

with  her  stick,  a  bright  blaze  sprang  up,  displaying  the 
little  shrinking  figure  in  the  doorway,  with  long,  wet 
hair,  and  frightened  eyes,  and  her  own  stout  athletic  form 
holding  the  heavy  stick,  and  looking  cautiously  and 
fi  3rcely  round  in  search  of  hidden  enemies. 

"  Yes,  I  know  you^  she  said  at  last,  "and  now  where  'a 
de  rest  ?" 

"There  ain't  any  body  else,  Marthy;  I'm  come  all  this 
•way  alone  to  fetch  you  home." 

"  You  come  here  alone !  dat's  a  likely  story,"  said  the 
girl.  "  S'pose  dey  goin'  to  send  a  chick  like  you  inter  de 
woods  dis  time  night.  No,  no,  yer  can't  cheat  me  dat  ar 
way.  Dar's  more  yonder  in  de  woods.  Let  'em  come,  I 
don't  car'." 

u  I  declare,  Marthy,  there  ain't  the  first  person  only 
me,"  said  Maud,  "  and  there  did  n't  nobody  send  me 
neither,  I  come  my  own  self." 

"  Well,  if  you  did,  it  was  n't  the  safest  place  to  come 
arter  night.  S'pose  yer  mammy  like  ter  hab  yer  here, 
honey?  Mighty  lonesome  in  dese  woods.  Hey,  Miss 
Maud  ?" 

u  I  ain't  afraid,"  said  Maud,  though  she  moved  a  little 
nearer  the  door. 

"  Ho !  ho !  want  to  run,  do  ye  ?  S'pose  yer  could  get 
away  if  I  wanted  ter  keep  yer,  hey  ?" 

"  You  don't  want  to  keep  me !"  said  Maud,  boldly. 

"  Don't  I !"  said  the  girl,  with  a  wild  laugh,  and  then 
suddenly  grasping  the  child  by  one  arm,  and  looking  dowu 
into  her  face  with  such  an  expression  of  malignity  and 
hatred,  that  Maud  shrank  and  trembled  before  it.  She 
continued  in  a  half  whisper,  "Don't  I?  Ain't  de  debble 
standin'  by  dis  minute  arid  tellin'  me  what  to  do  wid  yer, 
yer  little  toad,  yer  little  serpent's  egg.  I'll  do  it,  too!" 
fche  said,  setting  her  teeth  and  clenching  the  child  r  loser, 


MARTHA     SENT     OVER    T  II  E     15  ORDER.  309 

u  Was  n't  yer  sent  here  a  purpose?  O,  Lord  !  how  easy 
I  could  hold  yer  dis  way  and  smash  in  yer  head,  jest  so, 
d'ye  see  ?  Would  dey  hear  yer  holler,  tink  ?  Would  yer 
mammy  hear  yer,  and  feel  like  I  did  when  dey  made  Tilla 
cry?  Would  any  body  know  who  did  it,  tink,  or  ebber 
find  ye  'mong  de  snags  and  slime  in  de  bottom  ob  de 
creek?  Ho!  ho!" 

As  she  stood  brandishing  the  stick  over  the  child's  head, 
her  eyes  flashing  and  her  whole  body  quivering  with  pas- 
si  m,  she  looked  equal  to  any  deed  of  violence  and  blood, 
while  her  little  victim,  pale,  trembling,  and  speechless  with 
fright,  was  completely  in  her  power. 

"  O  would  n't  dar  be  a  fuss,"  she  continued,  appearing 
to  gloat  over  the  picture  her  imagination  had  formed. 
"  How  dey  would  take  on  'about  yer ;  get  out  all  de 
neigbors,  mebbe,  hab  a  grand  hunt,  den  by-an-by  p'raps 
find  yer  floatin'  on  de  water,  wid  de  mud  in  yer  eyes  and 
har ;  toat  yer  up  to  de  house.  O  Lord,  de  fun  !  Miss 
Oar'line,  she  come  screechin'  and  screamin' !  and  I  'd  clap 
both  hands  to  hear  her,  so  I  would !" 

"  O,  Marthy,  what  does  make  you  hate  us  so  ?."  said 
Maud,  "  I  'm  sure  we  've  been  good  to  you." 

"  Good  !  what  yer  call  good  ?"  said  the  girl.  "  Was  dey 
good  to  me  when  dey  tuck  Tilla,  nothin'  but  a  little  suck- 
in'  baby,  'way  from  her  mammy's  arms,  and  sent  her  'way 
down  riber,  where  she  neber  see  her  child  again  ?  Was 
dey  good  to  me,  when  dey  keep  her  grin  din'  and  workin* 
for  'em,  week  in  and  week  out,  and  neber  give  her  a  kind 
word,  but  plenty  ob  kicks,  and  cuffs,  and  whippin's !  Is 
dat  what  yer  call  good  ?  O  I  did  say  dey  was  good 
when  dey  lef  us  two  togedder.  I  neber  said  one  word 
as  long  as  dey  let  me  keep  my  chil'.  I  did  de  best-  I 
could,  and  I  kep  on  cheerful  and  happy  till  the  last- 
till- -till — "  she  dropped  the  stick  from  her  hand,  and 


310  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

covering  her  face  with  her  ragged  dress,  cried  out,  Ci  O 
Tilla!  Tilla!" 

Now  was  Maud's  time  to  escape,  for  the  grasp  upon 
her  arm  was  removed,  and  in  the  bitterness  of  her  grief 
Martha  seemed  unconscious  that  any  one  else  was  pres- 
ent. She  threw  herself  upon  the  ground,  and  sv  bbed  and 
groaned  like  one  in  the  extremity  of  mental  anguish 
Something  told  Maud,  however,  that  all  danger  was  over 
and  pity  and  surprise  kept  her  chained  to  the  spot. 

"Marthy,"  she  said,  at  last,  "I  don't  hate  you.  I  'm 
sorry  Tilla  's  dead,  and  I  'm  sorry  I  got  so  mad  with  you 
yesterday.  I  came  here  to  tell  you  so  this  very  night." 

"You  are  like  all  de  rest,"  said  Martha,  suddenly,  rising 
to  her  feet,  her  face  wearing  its  same  hard  expression. 
"Dar  ain't  no  odds.  Dey  larns  you  to  beat  us,  and  bang 
us,  quick  as  yer  old  'nuff  to  use  yer  lists.  And  we  can't 
help  it.  Did  n't  I  know  dey  was  killin  my  chil'  ?  Did  n't 
I  see  her  jest  pinin'  away  and  growin'  weaker  eb'ry  day  ? 
An'  did  n't  I  beg  Miss  Car 'line,  for  de  Lord's  sake,  to  save 
her.  She!  What  she  car'  so  dar  was  'nuff  left  to  do  her 
biddin'.  I  said  I  'd  done,"  she  continued,  dashing  the 
tears  from  her  eyes ;  "  I  thought  de  softness  was  all  driv' 
out  ob  my  heart,  and  nothin'  left  but  hate.  I 's  sure  it 
feels  hard  enough,  ar?d  heavy  enough,"  and  she  laid  both 
hands  upon  her  bosom,  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Can't  you  pray  ?"  said  Maud,  softly.  "  Aunty  prays 
when  she  feels  bad." 

"  Who  to  ?"  said  Martha,  sharply.  "  Not  de  Lord. 
He's  done  got  through  with  me.  He  won't  hear  to 
nothin'  I  say.  I  prayed  him  not  to  let  Tilla  diu,  and  he 
did.  I  don'  no,  I  don't  reckon  dar  is  no  Lord,  but  dar 's 
a  debble,  I  knows  dat,  for  he 's  been  a  standin'  by  me  dis 
bery  night,  a  temptin'  me  on." 

"  Mebbe  God  was  there  too,  holdin'  you  back,"  said 


MARTHA  SENT  O  V  E  K  THE  BORDER.     oil 

Maud.  "Oh,  Marthy!"  she  continued,  tears  of  pity  and 
kindness  running  down  her  cheeks,  "'you  must  pray 
and  try  to  come  good.  I  'm  bad,  too,  and  I  hated  you 
till  I  prayed,  and  now  I  don't  hate  you  one  bit,  and  I  'm 
real  sorry  for  you.  I  don't  want  you  to  stay  in  the  dark 
woods  all  night ;  won't  you  come  right  home  with  me ;  O 
see  how  dark  it  is.  I  must  go  this  minute." 

"  Is  Mass'  Jack,  and  Miss  Car'line,  and  all  ob  'em  dar  ?" 
said  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  but  I  don't  reckon  pa  will  whip  you,  Marthy. 
I  '11  beg  him  not  to,  'cause  you  9ve  had  such  a  hard  time 
without." 

"  Do  you  'spose  it 's  a  whippin'  I  'm  'fraid  ob  ?  Hav  n't 
deydone  worser  tings  to  me  dan  hurtin'  dis  poor  body. 
No,  no.  I 's  done  bein'  'fraid.  Dar  ain't  nothin'  to  be 
'fraid  ob,  now  Til  la's  dead.  I  wants  'em  all  dar,  I  does. 
Yes,  Miss  Maud,  I  '11  go,"  and,  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  she  stalked  out  into  the  darkness,  leaving  Maud  to 
follow  as  she  could. 

Follow  she  did,  through  bush,  and  briar,  and  brake, 
partly  walking  and  partly  running,  to  keep  pace  with 
Martha's  hasty  steps,  and  with  all  her  efforts  occasionally 
falling  far  behind,  and  losing  sight  of  her  in  the  darkness. 
Once  pausing,  lost  and  bewildered  among  the  trees,  she 
only  traced  the  direction  her  companion  had  taken  by  the 
crackling  of  the  underbrush,  through  which  she  passed, 
and  exerting  all  her  little  strength,  pushed  on  to  overtake 
her.  Any  company  seemed  preferable  to  solitude  in  these 
dark  woods.  Her  courage  had  been  put  to  a  severe  test, 
and  the  little  that  remained,  seemed  scarcely  sufficient  to 
carry  her  through  that  dreary  walk  ;  but,  when  at  length 
they  reached  the  opening  of  the  woods,  the  thought  that 
she  was  so  near  home  inspired  her  with  fresh  vigor,  and 
bounding  before  her  companion,  she  rushed  through  tho 


312  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

yard,  and  into  the  midst  of  the  anxious  and  astonished 
circle. 

"  Here  she  is,"  exclaimed  half  a  dozen  glad  voices,  and 
Maud  saw  the  look  of  welcome  light  up  those  dear  home 
faces,  that  half  an  hour  before  she  thought  she  should 
never  see  again. 

"  Oh,  Maud,  where  have  you  been  ?  How  could  you 
stay  away  so  late,  and  scare  us  all  nigh  to  death  ?  Why, 
child,  you  look  as  pale  as  a  piece  of  bleached  linen.  Are 
you  took  sick  ?  Has  any — "  Mrs.  Catlett  suddenly 
stopped,  for  close  behind  Maud,  her  glittering  eyes  fixed 
upon  her  mistress,  stood  Martha,  the  runaway. 

"You  back  again!1'  she  said,  as  soon  as  she  regained 
her  utterance. 

Martha  did  not  reply,  but  looked  at  Maud  for  an  ex- 
planation. 

"You  see,  ma,  I  found  her  down  by  the  branch.  I  've 
been  to  fetch  her  home,"  said  Maud. 

"  Oh,  Maud,  my  child,  how  dared  you  ?"  said  her 
mother,  forgetting,  in  her  appreciation  of  the  danger, 
even  to  scold.  "  And  you,  Marthy,  what  have  you  got  to 
say  for  yourself?  Got  tired  of  your  quarters  in  the  woods 
pretty  quick,  did  n't  you  ?" 

"  Miss  Car'line,  I 's  come  back,"  said  the  girl,  "  and 
I's  got  jest  one  thing  to  say.  I 's  been  on  this  place 
nigh  about  eighteen  years,  and  now  I 's  done  with  it. 
I  can't  stay  here  no  ways,  and  dat's  what  I  corne  to  tell 
Jfr." 

She  spoke  rapidly,  and  with  a  kind  of  dogged  Jeter- 
mination,  but  without  raising  her  eyes  from  the  floor.  It 
was  hard,  in  the  presence  of  her  mistress,  to  overcome  the 
old  habit  of  submission,  and  openly  rebel  against  the 
authority  to  which  she  had  yielded  so  long. 

"You  can't  stay  here?     You've  done  with  it  all!" 


MARTHA     SENT     O  V  K  R    THE     BORDER.         313 

repeated  Mrs.  Catlett,  bewildered  by  the  sudden  an- 
nouncement. "What  do  you  mean,  you  hussy?" 

"Jest  what  I  say,  Miss  Car'line.  I 's  done  your  bid- 
din'  dese  eighteen  year,  and  now  I  must  go  somewhar 
else.  Dat's  all." 

"  That 's  all !  Well,  I  must  say,  Mr.  Catlett,  that 's 
laying  it  off  cool.  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  of  that? 
I  always  thought  you  was  a  saucy  wench,  but  this  goes  a 
little  beyond.  You  are  gettin'  tired,  are  you,  and  want 
to  be  your  own  mistress?  Mighty  independent,  ain't 
you  ?  Come,  any  thing  more?" 

"  Miss  Car'line,  't  ain't  no  use  talkin'.  I  sha'n't  be  any 
'count  on  dis  place.  I  'm  clar  set  dar.  If  Mass'  Jack 
would  sell  me  now.  Dar's  a  trader  down  yonder  to  de 
store  makin'  up  a  gang  for  Texas." 

She  turned  to  Mr.  Catlett  as  she  spoke,  who,  with  his 
chair  tilted  back  against  the  wall,  sat  smoking  a  cigar. 

"  And  what  in  thunder  do  you  want  to  go  to  Texas 
for?"  he  said,  looking  at  her  in  astonishment!  "This  is 
the  first  time  I  ever  heard  any  of  you  ask  to  be  sent  down 
river.  Do  you  reckon  you  'd  find  it  any  easier  there  ? 
They  work  5em  up  pretty  well  on  them  plantations,  you  *d 
better  believe.  What 's  come  over  you,  gal  ?" 

"  I  don'no,  Mass'  Jack ;  'pears  like  dar  could  n't  be 
nothin'  worse  dan  livin'  on  dis  place.  But  if  massa  don't 
want  to  sell  me  down  river,  mebbe  he  'd  send  rue  over  to 
Massa  Dave.  I  don't  car'  whar  I  go,  so  it 's  off  ob  dia 
place.  Massa  talked  'bout  sendin'  me  dar  once  ;  but  den 
I  did  n't  want  to  go,  cause — cause — now  de  Lord  knows  I 
can't  get  far  enuff." 

"Why,  sakes  alive !  just  to  hear  her  run  on,"  said  Mrs. 
Catlett.  "  What  makes  you  waste  words  on  her,  Mr.  Cat- 
Ntt ;  don't  you  see  she's  got  to  have  a  regular  breakin* 
in  ?  Here,  you  Marthy,  we  '11  show  you  there 's  some- 

14 


-114  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

thing  new  to  be  learned  on  this  place,  before  we  send  you 
oif  to  another.  What  have  you  got  to  say  about  where 
you  '11  go  and  what  you  '11  do  ?  Do  you  know  who  you 
belong  to  ?" 

"  Yes,  Miss  Car'line,"  said  Martha,  looking  her  mistress 
full  in  the  face,  "  I  knows.  No  danger  ob  forgettin'  dat 
on  dis  place.  I  b'longs  to  you,  sure  enough  ;  but  there  'a 
one  way  of  gettin'  clar,  and  I  '11  do  it,  too.  No  use  tryin' 
to  stop  me,  Mass'  Jack,  I  will  speak.  Miss  Car'line,  you 
has  brought  me  down.  You  's  been  bringin'  me  down 
dese  eighteen  years,  and  I 's  had  all  de  bringin'  down  I 
kin  bar.  Now  jest  hear  to  me.  Sell  me  off  down  riber, 
or  somewhar.  I  don't  car'  how  far  off,  so  I  get  far  enuff 
off  from  dis  place.  I  '11  be  a  good  servant.  I  '11  do  de 
best  I  can  for  somebody  else.  I  will  so — but  I  call  de 
Lord  to  witness,  dat  if  you  won't  do  dis,  I  '11  go  drown 
myself  in  de  creek  de  fus  chance  I  get.  You  know  I  '11 
do  it  if  I  say  so,  and  dar  can't  nobody  stop  me.  If  you 
watch  me  day  times,  I  '11  steal  off  when  you  are  asleep ; 
and  if  you  tie  me  up,  I'll  starve  myself  till  you  let  me 
.oose.  Leastways  I  won't  be  no  more  gain  on  dis  yer 
place.  I  don't  want  to  live,  anyhow.  Satan  tried  to  have 
me  do  it  when  I  was  down  in  de  woods.  I  '11  do  it,  too." 

Mr.  Catlett  rose  while  she  was  speaking,  and  whispered 
a  word  or  two  to  one  of  the  servants,  who  immediately  left 
the  room. 

"  Now,  then,"  he  said,  placing  himself  directly  in  front, 
and  fixing  his  eyes  sternly  upon  her.  "  N  )w,  then,  you  've 
had  your  say,  I  '11  have  mine.  All  this  sounds  mighty 
grand,  and  you  think  it 's  smart  to  be  threatenin'  your 
lawful  owners  to  drown  yourself,  and  all  that;  but  just 
let  me  tell  you,  such  things  ain't  so  easy  done.  Mebbe 
we  shall  find  a  way  to  take  you  down  a  peg  or  two. 
We  've  been  a  mighty  sight  too  good  to  you,  and  there  '8 


MARTHA  SENT  OVER  THE  BORDER    316 

where  the  trouble  lies.  Here,  Uncle  Jim,"  he  continued, 
as  a  stout  black  man  appeared  at  the  door,  "  take  this  girl 
and  lock  her  up  in  the  old  smoke  he  use  till  mornin'. 
She  '11  likely  think  better  of  her  plans  bejore  we  've  done 
with  her." 

"  Pa,"  said  Maud,  who,  seated  on  a  low  stool,  had  list- 
ened to  this  conversation  with  breathless  interest,  "  don't 
whip  her,  please.  I  told  her  I  reckoned  you  would  n't  if 
she  'd  come  back  and  be  good." 

"  She  looks  like  it,"  said  Nanny. 

u  Hush  children,  all  of  you,"  said  their  father,  angrily. 
"  This  is  my  business  now." 

Meanwhile  Uncle  Jim  had  laid  hold  of  his  prisoner,  who 
offered  not  the  least  resistance,  and  was  leading  her  off. 

"  Lors,  Uncle  Jim,"  she  said,  u  you  need  n't  hold  me 
so  tight.  I  sha'n't  run  away  no  more  till  I  go  for  good 
and  all.  Mass'  Jack,  I 's  given  you  fa'r  warnin' ;  Misa 
Maud,  don't  you  fret,  I  ain't  afeard  of  a  whippin' ;"  and 
she  disappeared  in  the  doorway. 

•"  Mr.  Catlett,"  said  his  wife,  when  the  younger  mem- 
bers of  the  family  were  off  for  the  night,  "it 's  my  opinion 
you  'ii  L°ve  to  sell  that  girl." 

"  Smart  business  that  would  be,  to  do  just  the  thing 
she  wants." 

"I  know,  but  you  '11  lose  her  if  you  don't.  I  've  seen 
enough  of  her  obstinacy  to  know  that  she  '11  do  as  she  said 
the  first  minute  she  can  get  the  chance.  She  's  got  just 
devil  enough  in  her  for  that,  and  would  as  lief  drown  her- 
gelf,  if  she  took  the  notion,  as  to  eat  her  dinner.  If  there 
is  a  trader  down  to  the  store,  it  would  n't  do  any  harm  to 
see  him,  and  find  out  if  he'd  give  a  fair  price  for  the 
girl". 

"  I  won't  give  in  to  her  in  that  way.  Do  you  reckon  I 
waut,  her  to  think  I  'm  scared  at  ter  threats.  You  see  it 


816  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

would  have  the  worst  kind  of  effect  on  the  other  servant* 
Half  a  dozen  of  'em  heard  her  talkin'  in  that  saucy  way; 
and  if  you  mean  to  keep  any  order  in  the  house,  you'd 
better  let  me  manage." 

"  Well,  there  's  another  thing,  Mr.  Catlett.  The  chil- 
dren's lives  ain't  safe  with  that  creature  round.  Here  was 
Maud  frightened  all  but  to  death,  and  says  Marthy  threat- 
ened to  kill  her.  I  reckon  it  was  n't  so  bad  as  that ;  but 
then  she  is  mighty  dangerous.  I  can't  bear  the  sight  of 
her  either.  I  'd  rather  lose  something  on  her,  than  have 
her  round  another  year.  But  there  's  no  danger  of  losing. 
Niggers  never  were  higher,  and  she  always  was  a  stout, 
healthy-lookin'  girl.  Come,  Mr.  Catlett,  I  reckon  you'd 
better  ride  down  to  the  store  in  the  morning,  and  see 
what  kind  of  a  bargain  you  can  make." 

"I  tell  you  I  won't  do  just  the  thing  she  wants,"  said 
Mr.  Catlett. 

"  Well,  if  you  don't  want  to  do  that,  send  her  over  to 
Dave  awhile,  till  she  gets  cooled  down  a  little.  I'm  sure 
you  said  he  needed  another  hand,  and  she  '11  do  very  well 
in  the  field.  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Catlett,  I'm  afraid  of  the 
girl,  and  if  you  tried  to  whip  her,  you  'd  have  an  awful 
time  of  it  before  you  broke  her  spirit.  Now  you  see  she  'd 
do  well  enough  for  Dave,  and  you  'd  get  her  off  your  hands 
as  quiet  as  you  please." 

"  Poor  Dave  seems  to  have  trouble  enough  over  there, 
without  adding  a  she  devil  to  his  gang,  but  I  don't  know 
but  you've  got  the  right  of  it,  after  all,"  said  Mr.  Catlett, 
with  a  yawn. 

Perhaps  he  was  convinced  by  the  force  of  his  wife's  ar- 
guments, and  perhaps  he  had  been  secretly  of  the  opinion 
all  along  that  this  would  be  the  easiest  way  to  settle  the 
matter,  and  only  argued  the  case  lest  his  firmness  and  res- 
olution should  be  called  in  question.  Certain  it  is  that 


MARTHA  SENT  OVER  THE  BOEDER.     317 

he  finally  adopted  her  last  plan,  and  it  was  settled  that 
Martha  should  be  sent  to  Dave.  To  Dave  she  was  ac 
cordingly  sent  the  next  day,  Mr.  Catlett  driving  her 
over,  with  her  bundle  of  clothes,  in  the  farm-wagon.  She 
received  the  news  of  her  disposal  with  a  kind  of  sullen  in- 
difference, merely  saying,  that  it  "  did  n't  make  no  odds 
to  her,"  but  Mrs.  Catlett  declared  when  she  was  gone, 
that  a  curse  was  taken  off  the  place. 

While  the  old  folks  were  discussing  the  matter  below 
stairs,  the  children  were  not  silent  above.  Maud  was  the 
heroine  of  the  evening,  and  descanted  at  length  upon  the 
horrors  of  her  situation,  while  her  listeners  plied  her  with 
questions  and  exclamations. 

"Maud,"  said  Cal,  after  they  had  all  gone  to  bed, 
"didn't  you  feel  awful  when  she  stood  there,  vith  that 
great  stick  over  your  head,  looking  so  ugly,  and  you  all 
alone  in  the  woods  ?  Did  you  think  she  was  goin'  to  kill 
you,  sure  enough?" 

"  Well,  I  did  for  a  minute,  Cal,  and  at  first  I  was  so 
scared,  I  could  n't  think  of  any  thing,  and  at  last  I  thought 
about  aunty,  and  pa,  and  ma,  and  Miss  Fanny,  and  all  of 
you,  and  that  I  should  n'l  ever  see  you  again,  and  O,  so 
many  things  came  into  my  thoughts  all  at  once." 

"  What  things,  Maud  ?" 

"  O,  I  don't  know — things  that  I  'd  done,  but  the  bad 
ones  most  of  all." 

"  That  was  funny." 

"And  then  I  remembered  the  story  Miss  Fanny  told  us 
about  Daniel  in  the  lion's  den,  and  how  he  prayed,  and 
God  wouldn't  let  the  old  lions  hurt  him." 

"  Did  you  pray  ?" 

"  Not  much.  I  tried  to,  but  I  could  n't  think  of  any 
thing  to  say,  only  Johnny's  prayer  that  he  says  nights.  I 
prayed  that,  and  a  little  on  to  the  end  of  it." 


318  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

"What  did  you  put  on  the  end  of  it?  That  God 
would  n't  let  Marthy  kill  you  ?" 

"Yes,  and  that  He'd  take  me  up  to  heaven  if  she  did, 
but  it  was  n't  any  use,  I  know." 

"  Why  not,  Maud  ?" 

"  Because  I  have  n't  repented  of  my  sins,  and  Miss 
Fanny  says  we  must,  or  we  can't  go  to  heaven." 

"  O  Maud,  was  n't  you  afraid  to  die  ?  I  think  it 's 
dreadful  to  be  buried  in  the  ground,  like  grandma,  and  lit- 
tle Neddy." 

"  I  would  n't  be  afraid,"  said  Maud,  "  if  I  was  like  aunty 
and  Miss  Fanny,  I  tell  you,  Cal,  when  they  die,  they  '11 
go  right  up  to  God." 

"  I  wish  it  was  n't  so  hard  to  be  good,"  said  Cal,  with  a 
sigh.  "  I  'm  sure  I  want  to  go  to  heaven  when  I  die. 
Don't  you,  Maud  ?" 

"  Cal,"  said  Maud,  "  if  I  had  died  down  there  in  the 
woods  to-night,  I  should  n't  have  gone  to  heav  *,n.  I 
know  I  should  n't." 

"  Mebbe  you  would,  Maud.  Any  way  you  did  n't  die, 
BO  I  would  n't  feel  bad  about  it." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Cal.  I  keep  thinkin'  about  it  all  the 
while,  and  O,  dear,  I  wish  I  was  a  Christian." 

"  I  reckon  Miss  Fanny  would  love  to  hear  you  say  that, 
Maud." 

"  I  ran  away  from  her  to-night,"  said  the  child,  "  'cause 
she  talked  pious  to  me.  O,  dear,  how  wicked  I  am." 

"  Well,  never  mind,  Maud.  I  'm  sure  it  won't  do  any 
good  to  cry  about  it.  Mebbe  if  you  ask  God  He  '11  give 
you  a  c  new  heart.'  Miss  Fanny  says  that 's  what  we  must 
pray  for." 

A  new  heart !  Maud  whispered  the  words  over  many 
times  to  herself,  and  with  the  simple  prayef  upon  her  lips 
ahe  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

JACK     CATLETT'S     SUNDAY     KAMBLE. 

ONE  warm  Sunday  afternoon,  Mr.  Catlett,  after  accom- 
panying some  guests  to  the  gate,  sauntered  down  the  lane 
and  through  the  path  in  the  woods,  leading  up  the  creek 
to  the  saw-mill.  The  day  was  very  beautiful,  and  the 
sober  stillness  of  nature  contrasted  with  the  boisterous 
merriment  of  his  late  companions,  impressed  itself  even 
upon  him,  and  he  walked  thoughtfully  along.  As  he 
turned  a  bend  in  the  creek,  a  strain  of  music  was  borne 
on  the  air  to  his  ear,  and  as  it  was  long  past  the  time  of 
the  servants'  meeting,  the  place  besides  being  too  distant 
for  any  sound  from  thence  to  reach  him,  he  paused  a  mo- 
ment to  listen,  wondering  who  it  could  be. 

It  sounded  like  the  voices  of  children,  and  finding  its 
way  through  the  branches,  seemed  to  come  down  to  him 
from  the  very  tree-tops — a  low,  pleasant  murmur,  now 
rising,  now  falling,  now  wandering  all  about  in  the  sweet 
air,  and  then  descending  softly  till  it  died  away  in  silence, 
like  the  music  of  some  distant  waterfall,  heard  in  the 
pauses  of  the  wind.  As  he  proceeded,  the  sounds  grew 
louder  and  more  distinct,  and  his  rapid  steps  soon  brought 
him  to  an  opening  among  the  trees,  and  looking  a  little 
way  up  the  stream,  he  perceived  at  once  where  the  musiu 
came  from. 

On  fragments  of  the  broken  bridge,  and  on  the  mossy 
trunk  )f  an  old  tree  that  lay  across  it,  a  group  of  children 


320  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

were  seated,  and  in  their  midst,  with  the  youngest  in  her 
lap,  and  the  others  close  about  her,  sat  the  "  little  Con 
necticut  school-marm."  She  was  teaching  them  a  hymn, 
reading  a  vers,.  from  the  book  in  her  hand,  which  the  chil- 
dren repeated  after  her  many  times,  until  they  could  recite 
It  alone,  then  singing  it  with  them,  and  so  on  to  the  next 
verse.  He  knew  that  it  was  a  hymn,  for  though  too  dis- 
tant to  distinguish  the  words,  they  sang  them  in  an  old 
psalm  tune,  that  he  remembered  well,  and  that  came  back 
to  him  now  like  the  murmur  of  home  voices;  for  years 
and  years  ago,  he  had  sung  it  when  a  boy,  in  the  green 
woods  near  his  father's  door. 

Again  and  again  they  repeated  the  strain,  the  teacher's 
voice  in  low,  sweet  tones,  commencing  the  line,  but  soon 
lost  in  the  chorus  of  young  voices  that  took  it  up,  till  the 
old  woods  rang  again  with  the  melody.  It  was  a  pretty 
sight  that  group  of  little  ones  on  the  bridge,  with  the 
trees  for  a  canopy  overhead,  and  the  water  flowing  be- 
neath their  feet,  singing  the  praises  of  God  among  His 
most  beautiful  works.  There  was  a  chastened,  subdued 
look  upon  their  young  faces,  far  from  sad,  but  suggestive 
of  the  day  and  of  the  employment  in  which  they  were 
engaged,  while  in  her  simple  white  dress,  her  pale  face 
lighted  up  with  a  smile  of  praise,  and  calm  happiness,  she 
who  sat  with  them  as  teacher,  looked  scarcely  less  youth- 
ful than  they.  The  last  verse  was  sung,  and  the  book 
closed,  before  Mr.  Catlett  left  the  spot;  and  then  turning 
back,  after  a  few  steps,  he  heard  the  murmur  of  a  voice 
speaking  in  earnest  tones,  saw  her  pointing  upward,  and 
knew  that  she  was  telling  his  children  about  God  and 
heaven. 

He  did  not  go  up  to  the  saw-mill,  as  he  had  intended; 
he  had  no  wish  to  pass  the  group  on  the  bridge ;  so  steal- 
ing as  a  guilt}  person  back  into  the  woods,  he  walked 


JACK  CATLETT'S  SUNDAY  RAMBLE.   321 

hastily  toward  home,  whistling  a  lively  air  as  he  went, 
and  stopping  in  the  lane  for  a  frolic  with  the  dogs.  But 
as  he  passed  the  parlor  window,  and  caught  a  glimpse 
within,  of  his  daughter  Nanny  and  Miss  Belle  Turner,  in 
their  Sunday  finery,  laughing  and  coquetting  with  two  or 
three  of  the  prairie  beaux,  he  thought  of  the  young  girl 
with  her  pale  face  and  simple  white  dress,  whom  he  had 
just  left  singing  hymns  down  at  the  old  bridge.  He  won- 
dered what  made  the  difference. 

"  Mr.  Catlett,"  said  his  wife  that  evening,  "  what  do 
you  think  about  this  teaching  the  children  so  much  relig- 
ion ?  Here  's  Johnny  knows  two  or  three  hymns  a'ready, 
and  Maud  has  learned  a  whole  chapter  in  the  Bible  by 
heart.  Can't  you  stop  it  some  way  ?" 

"  What  for  ?     Don't  they  learn  any  thing  else  ?" 

"  Lors,  yes,  they  are  getting  on  right  smart  with  their 
books ;  but  if  she  goes  on  with  'em  this  way,  I  'm  afraid 
they'll  get  to  be  Methodists  one  of  these  days.  I  reckon 
you  'd  better  hint  to  her  to  hold  up  a  trifle." 

"  Well,  now,  I  thought  you  women  believed  in  religion. 
What 's  come  over  you  ?" 

"  I  have  n't  said  any  thing  against  religion.  I  think  it 's 
a  good  thing  in  its  way.  My  grandfather  was  an  elder  in 
the  Presbyterian  church  in  Richmond,  nigh  about  twenty 
years,  and  most  all  my  kin  are  professors.  Of  course  I  've 
no  objection  to  attending  church,  and  all  that ;  but  you 
see  she  goes  into  it  so  strong,  that  she  makes  the  children 
think  they  are  just  the  wickedest  creatures  in  the  world; 
and  here  comes  little  Joy  the  other  day,  telling  me  it 's 
wicked  to  get  mad,  that  the  Bible  says  so,  and  all  that, 
the  impudence!  as  though  any  body  could  help  gettin' 
mad,  with  such  a  house  full  of  servants  as  I  ha/e  to 
manage." 

"  O,  ho  !  there 's  where  the  shoe  pinches,  is  it  ?  Th« 

14* 


322  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

religion  that  gives  a  good  knock  now  and  then  at  our  own 
sins,  ain't  the  thing  at  all.  Well,  now,  look  here,  wife, 
we  ought  to  think  ourselves  lucky  to  hire  a  chaplain  and 
a  school-teacher  all  together.  Mebbe  she  '11  sanctify  us 
all,  if  she  only  stays  here  long  enough." 

"  Well,  you  may  joke  about  it,  but  I  tell  you  it  will 
likely  work  mischief  one  of  these  days.  She  '11  be  teachin' 
the  servants  next.  We  've  got  one  prayin'  Methodist  on 
the  place,  and  that 's  enough,  I  should  hope." 

"You  never  had  a  better  servant,  let  me  tell  you,  than 
this  same  prayin'  Methodist  you  tell  about." 

"  O,  Aunt  Phebe  is  well  enough.  It 's  dreadful  tiresome 
to  hear  her  run  on  sometimes.  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  two  of  'em." 

u  Let  'em  alone,  wife,  that 's  the  best  thing  you  can  do, 
It  won't  hurt  any  of  us  to  get  a  dab  now  and  then." 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

ALL     TO     KANZAS. 

THE  plan  of  a  visit  to  Dave  on  his  new  farm,  discussed 
by  Miss  Nanny  and  the  teacher  in  St.  Louis,  had  not  been 
given  up.  "After  harvesting,"  Mr.  Catlett  all  along  said, 
"  they  would  certainly  go,"  and  accordingly  no  sooner  was 
that  busy  season  over,  than  the  young  people  grew  impa- 
tient for  the  fulfillment  of  his  promise.  "  Every  body  wa» 
going,"  murmured  Maud,  "  except  we  little  folks,  and 
'Ria,  who  was  going  to  keep  house.  Great  times  there 
would  be  with  >Ria  for  mistress. 

The  summer  had  been  unusually  warm.  For  weeks  a 
hot  dry  wind  blew  from  the  south,  a  prickly,  irritating 
wind,  that  heated,  rather  than  cooled  the  air,  and  which 
Nanny  thought  so  injurious  to  the  complexion,  that  she 
sat  all  day  in  a  huge  sun-bonnet,  a  covering  that  exposed 
her  to  all  sorts  of  attacks  from  the  younger  children,  who 
could  approach  her  on  three  sides  without  being  dis- 
covered, and  who  delighted  to  tease  her  with  their 
monkeyish  tricks,  just,  as  Johnny  said,  "to  hear  her  fret." 
So  oppressive  was  the  weather  that  even  the  heavy  dews 
that  fell  at  night  failed  to  cool  the  air,  and  the  grass  and 
the  foliage  looked  parched  and  withered. 

Accustomed  to  a  cooler  climate,  Fanny  suffered  more 
through  this  season  than  any  other  member  of  the  family. 
It  was  with  no  small  effort  that  she  overcame  the  languor 
and  debility  occasioned  by  the  extreme  heat,  sufficiently 


324  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

to  perform  her  daily  duties.  The  sun  poured  its  rays 
directly  down  upon  the  little  school-house,  and  many  a 
time  by  the  middle  of  the  day  her  head  would  throb  so 
dizzily,  that  she  could  hardly  read  the  book  before  her. 
The  children,  however,  knew  nothing  of  this.  At  such 
times  her  voice  was  more  subdued,  and  her  manner  more 
gentle  than  usual,  while  with  unwearied  patience  she  ex- 
plained the  difficult  passages  in  their  lessons,  drew  pictures 
for  Johnny  on  the  slate,  and  set  the  copies  for  the  closing 
exercise.  If  now  and  then  she  pressed  her  hand  to  her 
head  with  a  look  of  pain,  it  was  done  so  quietly  that  they 
did  not  observe  it.  "  Miss  Fanny  never  gets  mad,"  said 
Cal.  "  If  we  act  bad,  she  looks  at  us  so  sorry,  it  makes 
us  feel  a  heap  worse  than  if  she  scolded." 

But  after  all  were  gone  and  the  door  closed  behind  them, 
the  young  teacher  looked  from  the  low  window  upon  the 
wide  waste  of  withered  grass,  and  contrasted  it  with  the 
green  orchards  of  New  England.  The  old  parsonage, 
with  its  sloping  yard  in  front,  where  the  poplars  cast  their 
long  shadows  at  this  hour,  the  tidy  flower-garden  behind, 
and  the  blue  mountain  stretching  away  in  the  distance, 
came  back  to  her  view,  until,  sick  and  weary,  the  tears  rose 
to  her  eyes,  and  she  sank  down  upon  her  chair,  to  dream 
a  little  while  about  home. 

"  Our  '  Connecticut  school-marm'  needs  this  trip  as  much 
as  any  body,"  Mr.  Catlett  remarked,  "  she 's  getting  as 
pale  as  a  lily,  and  I  have  n't  heard  her  laugh  right  hearty 
for  a  week.  Come  cheer  up,  Miss  Fandango.  We  '11  take 
you  over  there  where  the  breezes  blow.  The  land  ?a 
higher,  they  say,  and  it 's  all-fired  hot  on  the  prairie,  and 
no  mistake." 

The  day  was  set  once  and  even  twice  for  their  departure, 
but  several  things  had  happened  to  postpone  it.  Mr. 
Catlett  could  hardly  make  up  his  mind  that  it  was  #afe  to 


ALL    TO    KANZAS.  325 

go.  He  knew  all  about  the  border  troubles,  and  that  an 
expedition  was  now  being  planned  to  invade  the  country, 
and  force  slavery  upon  the  people.  He  well  knew,  for  he 
had  been  required  to  subscribe  largely,  how  great  this 
preparation  was.  Nor  did  he  deem  it  safe  to  traverse 
the  country  with  a  party  of  ladies,  at  a  time  when  he 
would  be  liable  to  encounter  an  army  of  his  fellow-mis- 
sionaries, with  plenty  of  whisky  along.  He,  therefore, 
waited,  before  starting,  until  he  could  receive  certain  news 
of  the  intended  invasion.  This  intelligence  he  at  last  ob- 
tained. Ascertaining  that  the  army  would  not  assemble 
for  at  least  six  weeks,  he  determined  to  seize  the  oppor- 
tunity, and  make  the  long-wished-for  visit. 

So  Mr.  Catlett  and  his  wife,  Nanny  and  the  teacher, 
with  Mr.  Tom  Walton  for  an  escort,  set  off  one  fine  morn- 
ing upon  horseback,  while  big  William  followed  more 
leisurely,  in  the  farm-wagon  full  of  household  goods. 
Dave  was  waiting  to  receive  his  guests,  and  after  a  right 
cordial  greeting,  conducted  them  with  no  little  pride  and 
satisfaction  to  the  door  of  the  cabin  which  had  been  built 
especially  for  their  accommodation.  It  stood  close  beside 
his  own,  and  was  divided  into  two  apartments,  the  one  for 
Mr.  Catlett  and  his  wife,  the  other  for  the  young  ladies. 
It  was  a  cozy  little  affair,  and  Jinny  and  Adeline  had 
taken  a  deal  of  trouble  to  prepare  it  for  their  arrival,  ar- 
ranging the  few  articles  of  furniture  which  had  been  sent 
over  from  the  prairie,  to  the  best  advantage.  The  little 
mirror  was  trimmed  round  with  wild  flowers,  and  some 
four-o'clocks,  and  morning-glories  were  growing  undei 
the  windows,  while  Uncle  Tim  had  manufactured,  after 
his  own  fashion,  a  couple  of  wooden  flower-pots  to  stand 
on  the  table.  That  worthy  individual  also  led  them  in  the 
course  of  the  day  along  a  shady  path  a  little  distance 
from  the  house,  and  brought  them  suddenly  upon  a  swing, 


326  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

which  he  had  suspended  from  one  of  the  tall  trees,  placing 
close  by  a  rude  bench,  whereon  they  might  repose  when 
weary.  His  delight  at  the  young  ladies'  expressions  of 
pleasure,  was  good  to  behold,  and  even  Mrs.  Catlett  remain- 
ed  cheerful  and  happy  through  the  whole  of  the  first  day. 

"  Well,  Tim,  how  are  the  crops  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Catlett. 
"  Going  to  make  a  good  year  of  it,  boy  ?" 

"Poorly!  poorly!  Mass'  Jack.  You  see  we  got  put 
back  heaps  in  de  spring.  Twice  dat  ar  corn  hab  to  be 
planted,  and  de  third  crop  got  kinder  wilted  down,  de 
sun  was  so  hot  'fore  it  started.  Den  t'ain't  good  land  for 
'backy,  nohow,  and  taters,  well  dey's  fa'r — yes,  taters  is 
fa'r,  but  dat's  all  you  ken  say  'bout  'em.  Mass'  Dave 
won't  make  his  fortin  off  dis  year's  crop." 

"  Well,  never  mind,  Tim.  Better  luck  next  year,  meb- 
be.  Now,  old  lady,  are  you  going  to  make  yourself  com- 
fortable here  for  a  month  or  so,  hey  ?" 

"  Well,  yes,  it  looks  real  snug,  Mr.  Catlett.  I  s'pose, 
though,  we  shall  have  some  trouble.  I  sha'n't  stay  here  to 
have  bullets  whizzin'  in  at  my  windows.  If  there  's  any 
such  tantrums  as  that  cut  up,  I  shall  leave,  that 's  all." 

"  Nonsense,  ma  ;  who 's  afraid.  I  think  it 's  perfectly 
charming  /"  this  was  one  of  Nanny's  city  phrases.  u  And, 
Miss  Fanny,  don't  you  remember  how  Cousin  Julia  was 
always  talking  about  her  father's  beautiful  country  resi- 
dence ?  When  we  write,  we  can  tell  her  that  we  have 
got  a  country  residence  too." 

Fanny  did  not  hear,  for  Tom  Walton  was  whispering 
something  in  her  ear  at  the  moment — an  occupation  to 
which  he  had  devoted  himself  all  along  the  ride  from  the 
prairie.  More  than  once  the  jealous  Nan  had  nudged  her 
mother,  and  said  softly,  "  Tom  is  making  love."  "  Making 
fiddlesticks,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett. 

The  day  passed  with  the  usual  chat  among  families 
when  united,  and  all  went  merry  as  a  marriage  bell. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

THE     SQUATTER'S     REVENUE. 

ONE  night,  not  long  after  the  arrival  of  Dave's  visitors, 
the  girl  Martha  was  straggling  about  in  the  woods  sur- 
rounding her  young  master's  claim.  Her  restless,  feverish 
spirit,  seemed  to  find  comfort  in  these  expeditions,  and  no 
matter  how  hard  the  day's  work,  or  how  weary  the  body, 
night  usually  found  her  wandering  about  in  the  darkness, 
like  some  evil  angel  intent  on  mischief,  and  yet  fearing  to 
do  any  thing  for  the  lack  of  helpers.  To-night  she  had 
strayed  further  than  was  her  wront,  and  having  got  somo 
miles  from  home,  how  far  she  knew  not,  she  found  herself 
in  the  middle  of  a  thick  growth  of  trees,  entangled  with 
under-brush,  where,  after  wandering  awhile,  she  became 
completely  bewildered,  and  knew  not  which  way  to  go. 
In  the  midst  of  1  er  perplexity,  she  came  suddenly  upon  a 
rude  sort  of  habitation,  part  wigwam,  part  log-cabin,  built 
deep  in  the  woods.  A  bright  light  streamed  through  the 
cracks,  and  guided  her  steps  to  the  entrance,  where,  with 
torn  feet  and  limbs  she  asked  for  admittance. 

"  Who  's  there  ?"  cried  a  sharp  female  voice.  "  Zi,  your 
gun  !  Quick,  boy,  we  are  tracked !  we  are  discovered ! 
Now  stand  by  your  mother.  Shoot  'em  if  they  are  a 
dozen." 

"  No,  don't  shoot,"  said  Martha,  "  it 's  only  me,  a  poor 
lost  nigger,  no  account,  anyhow.  Won't  harm  you.  Hates 
nobody  but  Mann  Catlett,  that  killed  my  Tilla." 


828  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  Did  you  say  you  hated  Catlett  ?"  said  anothei  voice ; 
"  Catlett  of  La  Belle  Prairie  ?  Do  you  hear  that  mother  ? 
Good !  You  can't  hate  him  worse  than  we  do.  Shall  I 
undo  the  door  ?" 

"  I  did  n't  say  I  hated  Massa  Jack.  It 's  Miss  Car'line 
I  hates  de  wust.  She  killed  my  child,  but  he  let  her — and, 
yes,  I  hates  him,  too.  O,  do  let  me  in.  'Pears  like  I  should 
die."  They  heard  her  sobbing  without. 

"  Undo  the  door,  Zi,"  said  the  woman's  voice,  "it  can't 
do  no  harm,  anyhow.  If  she 's  an  enemy,  she  '11  bring  him 
here,  and  he  '11  find  a  way  to  get  in,  without  our  leave ; 
and  if,  as  she  says,  she  hates  the  man,  why"— she  whis- 
pered something  to  the  boy,  who  immediately  undid  tho 
door,  and  Martha  entered. 

"  You  are  hurt  and  you  are  shivering,"  said  the  woman, 
surveying  the  forlorn  object  before  her ;  "  but  before  ever 
you  warm  yourself  at  our  fire,  swear  that  you  hate  that 
man,  that  devil  in  human  shape,  that  you  spoke  of  outside 
the  door." 

Her  vehemence  seemed  to  astonish  even  Martha. 

"  Why,  lors,  missus,  what  has  he  done  to  harm  you  V" 
she  said. 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  Did  n't  he  murder  my  man  in 
cold  blood  !  The  best  and  the  kindest  husband,  and  the 
father  of  my  children  !  Did  n't  he  ?  And  bring  him  in 
and  throw  him  down  at  my  feet  like  a  dead  dog  !  He 
stood  by  when  I  wiped  off  the  death  sweat,  and  says  I, 
*  Speak  one  word  more,  John,'  and  says  he, '  They  murdered 
me  like  cowards !'  I  cursed  him  then,  standing  by  the 
dead  body  of  him  that  he  killed,  and  I  vowed  to  myself 
that  I  'd  be  revenged.  Did  n't  they  drive  the  widow  and 
the  orphans  from  their  home,  with  only  this  boy  to  pro- 
tect 'em?  And  does  n't  his  own  son  warm  himself  at  my 
hearth-stone,  with  my  roof  to  cover  him  ?  A  lazy,  good- 


THE     SQUATTEK'S     KEVENGE.  329 

for-nothing  devil,  that  shoots  in  the  woods  all  day  !  Good 
Lord,  girl,  is  n't  that  harm  enough  ?  Do  you  ask  why  I 
hate  'em  ?" 

"  And  have  n't  I  reason  to  hate  'em,  too  ?  Did  n't  dey 
kill  my  Tilla !  my  child  !  and  bury  her  in  de  swamp  ?" 

44  Did  they,  did  they  kill  your  baby  ?" 

44  They  made  her  work  when  she  was  sick  and  ailin', 
till  she  died,  and  they  would  n't  hear  to  me  nor  Miss 
Fanny,  when  we  begged  'em  for  de  good.  Lord's  sake  not 
to  do  it." 

"  Was  she  your  child  ?" 

44  De  same,  missus,  de  very  same.  Mammy  put  her 
inter  my  arms  when  she  was  a  little  baby,  and  says  she, 
4  Take  care  ob  her,  Marthy.  I  gib  her  to  you.'  Dey  sold 
mammy  down  river,  you  see,  and  Tilla  and  me  was  left 
alone.  I  always  called  her  my  child,  and  I  couldn't  have 
loved  her  better  if  she  had  been." 

44  Poor  thing  !  they  did  you  this  great  harm,  then,  and 
you  '11  hate  them  for  it  as  long  as  you  live.  You  need  n't 
swear.  We  are  even,  but,  girl,  do  you  know  wh^  revenge 
is,  and  how  sweet  it  is  ?" 

44  Don't  I  ?"  said  Martha,  grating  her  teeth.  "  Has  n't 
the  debble  stood  by  me  times,  drivin'  me  on,  and  oh,  missus, 
once  he  put  de  way  straight  afore  me.  One  dark  night 
alone  in  de  woods,  dat  child,  her  child,  missus,  dat  killed 
my  Tilla,  was  sent  to  de  bery  place  where  I  wus.  Dar 
wasn't  a  livin'  soul  nigh,  and  de  creek  run  a  little  way 
>ff.  O,  why  did  n't  I  do  it  ?" 

"  Did  you  want  to  kill  the  child  ?" 

44 1  did  n't  do  it,  missus.  I  said  de  debble  told  me  to. 
Mebbe  I  '11  do  it  yet,  though,  for  all  I  let  her  go." 

44  Zi,  she  '11  do,"  said  the  woman.  "  We  can  trust  her. 
Will  you  join  with  us,  and  keep  a  secret,  and  help  us  to 
do  them  a  mighty  mischief  one  of  these  days  ?" 


330  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

"  Won't  I  ?"  said  Martha,  a  fiendish  smile  playing  over 
her  face. 

uSit  nigher  then,  and  speak  low.  The  very  wind  may 
carry  it  to  his  ears." 

"  Not  to-night,  mother.  Don't  tell  her  to-night.  The 
time  has  n't  come  yet,"  said  Zi. 

"  Well,  well  boy,  when  then  ?  You  are  always  for  put- 
ting it  off,  and  I  never  shall  sleep  in  peace,  or  the  dead 
man  rest  in  his  grave,  till  the  mischief  is  done." 

"  Come  here  again  a  week  from  to-night,  girl,  do  you 
understand,  and  if  every  thing  is  right,  we'll  let  you  know 
what  to  do.  And,  mother,  you  forget  that  it's  after 
midnight,  and  I  have  n't  had  a  mouthful  of  supper." 

"  True,  true,  boy,  I  forget  every  thing  now-a-days  but 
my  wrongs.  Those  are  fresh  enough  in  my  mind.  Well, 
bring  in  the  milk,  Zi,  while  I  take  up  the  ash-cake. 
There,  sit  down  on  that  stool,  girl.  Have  you  had  any 
thing  to  eat  ?" 

"Do  you  keep  cows  ?" 

*"'  The  nicest  you  ever  see — gives  plenty  of  milk." 

"  Mass'  Dave  keep  three,  and  Adeline  say  dey  all  dryin' 
up.  Can't  squeeze  over  a  quart  out  of  nary  one  of  'era." 

uHa!  ha!  ha!"  roared  Zi.  "Don't  know  how  to 
take  care  of  'em,  you  see.  Ours  are  first-rate,  ain't  they, 
mother  ?" 

"It 's  the  ';urse,  girl.  Dave  Catlett  can't  get  any  cows 
that  will  give  him  milk.  Have  you  ever  heard  any  bul- 
lets whiz^mg  round  them  ?" 

"  O,  missus,  it 's  the  dreadfullest  place.  Aunt  AdcTme 
ghe  'most  goes  crazy.  She  says  it 's  de  debble.  She  want 
to  get  back  to  de  prairie." 

"  Ha !  ha f  ha!"  roared  the  boy  again.  "  It 's  haunted, 
sure  enough." 

"Zi,  Zi,  't  will  be  time  enough  to  laugh  when  you  win, 


THE  SQUATTER'S   REVENGE.  331 

Come,  boy,  eat  your  supper.  Sit  up,  girl,  we  are  on 
equal  terms  in  this  matter.  There  's  a  close  bond  between 
us." 

Zi,  his  mother,  and  Martha,  made  their  meal  over  a 
board,  with  a  pitch-pine  knot  burning  for  light,  the  same 
the  slave  had  seen  through  the  cracks  of  the  hovel.  It 
was  near  morning  when  Martha  said  she  must  hurry  back 
before  the  sun  rose,  to  her  day's  work.  The  boy  accom- 
panied her  a  little  distance  to  point  out  the  way,  and 
just  as  they  were  about  to  separate  seized  her  roughly  by 
the  arm,  and  cocking  his  pistol,  held  it  within  a  few  inches 
of  her  breast. 

"  Do  you  see  this  ?"  he  said,  sternly. 

"  Yes,  massa,"  said  the  trembling  girl. 

"  Now  hear  me,  then.  If  you  betray  us,  if  you  dare  to 
tell  those  hell-hounds  where  we  are,  as  sure  as  you  stand 
here  alive,  one  of  these  bullets  shall  go  through  your 
heart.  I  '11  hunt  you  out  if  I  search  the  world  for  you. 
Do  you  understand  ?" 

"  Yes,  massa.  O,  please,  massa,  take  it  away.  De  Lord 
knows  I  hates  'em  as  bad  as  you  do." 

"  Well,  go  then,"  he  said,  apparently  satisfied. 

Away  sped  Martha  like  a  wild  deer,  leaping  among  the 
underbrush,  and  finally  disappearing  in  the  thick  woods, 
while  the  boy  took  his  way  slowly  back  to  the  cabin. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

TOM  WALTON  PLAYS  THE  FOOL. 

"  NANNY,  who  's  that  yonder  riding  down  the  hill  at 
such  a  furious  rate?" 

"  Goodness,  ma,  it 's  Tom  Walton.  I  think  he  'd  better 
live  over  here  and  done  with  it.  He's* been  to  visit  us 
three  weeks  hand  runnin'." 

"  There  goes  Nan  to  prink,  now,"  said  Dave,  as  his  sis- 
ter ran  into  the  other  room;  "just  as  if  all  the  beaux 
came  to  see  her." 

"  Well,  who  does  Tom  Walton  come  to  see,  if  it  is  n't 
Nanny  ?"  said  her  mother,  with  some  spirit. 

"  Who  did  he  bring  that  great  nosegay  to  yesterday, 
ma,  and  run  down  in  the  woods  after  when  he  found 
she  'd  gone  to  walk  ?" 

"Nonsense,  Dave,  he  never  would  think  of  addressing 
a  poor  teacher  like  her.  What  are  you  talking  about  ?" 

"  He  might  make  a  worse  choice  if  he  did,"  said  the 
young  gentleman. 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  find  a  great  deal  to  admire  in  that 
little  pale-faced  girl.  But  as  to  Mr.  Walton,  I  think  he 
pays  her  very  little  respect.  He  always  used  to  get 
Nanny  down  to  the  piano  the  very  first  thing  when  we 
were  at  home." 

"  Yes,  and  talk  to  Miss  Fanny  all  the  while.  I  >ve  seen 
him,"  said  Dave. 

u  Go  way,  Dave,  you  are  too  smart,"  said  his  mother. 


TOM     WALTON     PLAYS     T  HE     FOOL.  335 

"  Well,  there  he  comes  up  the  walk,"  said  Dave,  "  in 
his  white  pants  and  yellow  vest.  I  reckon  I  must  go  and 
meet  him.  Tom  Walton's  a  pretty  clever  fellow,  and  I 
don't  think  any  the  worse  of  him  for  likin'  Miss  Fanny." 

An  hour  after,  as  Mrs.  Catlett  was  in  her  part  of  the 
cabin  arranging  things  for  the  night,  Nanny  entered,  her 
carefully  curled  hair  dangling  about  her  ears,  and  her  mus- 
lin dress  lank  and  heavy  with  the  dew. 

"  Why,  child,  where  have  you  been  ?"  said  her  mother. 

"  O,  ma,  such  doin's  !  Tom  Walton  ! — the  teacher  !" 
said  Nanny,  short  for  breath. 

"  What  of  them  ?  Can't  you  speak  ?  Why,  child,  how 
you  act." 

"  I  can't  help  it.  I  'm  so  flustered.  Only  think  of  it, 
ma ;  she  's  rejected  him  !" 

"  Rejected  Torn  Walton  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Catlett, 
astonished  in  her  turn  by  the  intelligence.  "  You  are 
wild !" 

"  ^To,  I  'm  not.  I  heard  it  with  my  own  ears,  or  else  I 
never  would  have  believed  it,"  said  Nanny. 

"  What !  reject  Tom  Walton,  the  handsomest  young  fel- 
low on  the  prairie,  and  with  his  eighty  thousand  at  least ! 
Nanny,  somebody's  been  telling  you  a  story." 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  I  heard  it  with  my  own  ears,"  said 
Nanny,  half  crying  with  impatience  and  vexation. 

"  Well,  don't  fret,  Nanny ;  sit  down  and  tell  me  all 
about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.  "  How  in  the  world  did  you 
hear  it?" 

u  Why  you  see,  ma,  after  sunset  we  went  out  to  walk 
Mr.  Walton,  and  Miss  Fanny  and  me ;  and  he  just  talked 
to  her  all  the  time,  and  didn't  pay  me  any  respect;  so 
by  and  by  I  got  vexed,  and  said  I  'd  stop  at  the  swing. 
Miss  Fanny  she  tried  not  to  have  me,  but  I  would.  Well, 
by-and-by  I  heard  em  coming  back,  and  I  hid  in  the 


834  WESTERN     BORDER    LIFE. 

bushes  till  they  went  by,  and  Miss  Fanny  she  says, 
4  Where's  Nanny  ?  let  me  go  and  find  her,'  or  something 
like  that ;  and  lie  caught  hold  of  her  and  told  her  not  to, 
for  he  had  something  particular  to  say  to  her.  And  then, 
ma,  they  sat  down  on  the  bench  by  the  swing,  and  I  right 
behind  in  the  bushes,  and  I  could  hear  every  word  he  said. 
I  declare  I  never  was  so  surprised  in  all  my  life,  and  I 
could  n't  stir,  you  know,  because  they  would  find  me  out." 

"Well,  what  did  they  say?"  inquired  Mrs.  Catlett, 
eagerly. 

"  O,  he  came  right  out  with  it  the  first  thing,  and  told 
her  he  never  saw  any  body  before  that  he  liked  half  so 
well;  that  he  had  wanted  to  tell  her  so  a  long  time  back; 
and  that  if  she  would  accept  his  heart  and  hand,  he  should 
be  a  very  happy  man.  He  said  it  just  as  if  he  had  learned 
it  all  by  heart,  and  in  such  a  proud  kind  of  a  way,  as  if 
she  would  say  yes  in  a  minute." 

"  And  why  should  n't  she  ?  Any  girl 's  a  fool  that 
would  n't." 

"  But  she  did  n't,  though,  ma.  I  could  n't  hear  what 
she  said  very  well,  she  spoke  so  low,  but  it  was  something 
about  being  very  sorry,  that  she  had  felt  afraid  that  it  was 
coming  to  this,  and  that  she  would  gladly  have  spared  him 
the  pain.  Ma,  you  never  heard  any  body  break  in  as  he 
did,  right  here.  He  asked  her  what  she  meant,  and 
whether  she  understood  what  he  said?  in  such  an  angry 
way,  that  it  fairly  frightened  me." 

"  How  dared  she?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett. 

"  She  said  yes,  and  ever  so  much  more,  but  I  could  n't 
understand  it.  I  only  caught  a  word  here  and  there,  but 
it  was  plain  enough  to  see  that  she  refused  him  right  out 
and  out." 

"  And  she  nothing  but  a  poor  teacher,  not  worth  a  cent 
in  the  world !  How  did  he  take  it  ?" 


TOM     WALTON     P  L  A.  Y  S     THE     FOOL.  335 

"  He  did  n't  say  a  word  for  about  a  minute.  It  seemed 
as  though  he  did  n't  know  what  to  make  of  it,  and  when 
he  did  speak,  his  voice  sounded  so  strange,  just  as  if  he 
was  angry,  and  was  try  in'  to  keep  it  in.  He  said  he  hoped 
she  would  n't  trifle  with  him ;  that  she  would  think  better 
of  it  he  was  sure ;  and  O,  ma,  he  began  to  plead  so  earn- 
estly. I  could  n't  tell  you  half  he  said  ;  but  she  stopped 
him  right  in  the  middle  of  it,  in  her  decided  way,  and  then 
he  rushed  away  from  her  as  if  he  was  mad,  and  she  fol- 
lowed him,  so  that  I  could  n't  hear  any  more ;  but  they 
made  it  up  somehow,  for  he  shook  hands  with  her  under 
the  tree  a  moment  after,  and  looked  so  sorry  it  went  to 
my  heart.  Now,  ma,  did  you  ever  see  anything  like  it?" 

"  She  was  a  perfect  goose !"  said  Mrs.  Catlett.  "  No 
girl  in  her  senses  would  refuse  such  an  offer.  She  '11  never 
get  such  another  chance  as  long  as  she  lives.  I  'm  per- 
fectly astonished  that  such  a  fellow  as  Tom  Walton  should 
want  her." 

"  I  know  it,  ma,  and  she  took  it  as  cool  as  if  she  was 
used  to  such  things.  She 's  out  there  in  the  yard,  now, 

talking  with  black  Jinny,  just  as  if  nothing  had  happened." 
*****  *** 

"  Why,  Tom,  are  you  going  to  ride  to-night  ?"  said 
Dave,  who  was  leaning  against  a  tree,  when  Mr.  Walton 
came  by. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  abruptly. 

"  Well,  I  '11  ride  along  with  you  a  mile  or  two,"  said 
Dave.  "  It 's  too  dull  staying  here,  and  here  's  pa's  horse 
ready  geared.  Which  way  ?"  he  continued,  as  Mr.  Walton 
seemed  undecided  how  to  turn  his  horse's  head. 

"  Any  way,  it  don't  make  any  odds,"  was  the  reply,  and 
digging  his  heels  into  his  horse's  sides,  the  young  man 
started  off  at  such  a  pace,  that  Dave  found  some  difficulty 
in  keeping  up  with  him. 


336  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

u  For  goodness'  sake,  Tom,  hold  up,  can't  you  ?"  said 
Dave,  after  they  had  ridden  at  this  pace  awhile.  "  You 
ain't  on  a  wager,  are  you,  that  you  need  to  ride  so  fast  ?" 

Mr.  Walton  checked  his  horse,  and  waited  till  his  com- 
panion came  up. 

"  You  would  n't  go  ahead  of  me  that  way,  Tom,  if  I 
Lad  my  own  horse.  Pa's  old  nag  is  slow-footed,  anyhow." 

"Dave,"  said  Tom  Walton,  abruptly,  "did  you  ever 
make  a  fool  of  yourself?" 

"Well,  I  don't  reckon  I  should  want  to  own  up  if  I 
had,"  said  Dave. 

"  Such  a  co-founded  fool  that  you  could  n't  help  ownin' 
it  ?"  said  his  companion. 

"  Why,  Tom,  what  are  you  drivin'  at  ?"  said  Dave. 

"  Because  Jhave,  and  I  should  like  to  find  company  for 
my  comfort,"  said  the  young  man. 

"Well,  if  Tom  Walton,  the  smartest  young  man  on  the 
prairie,  owns  to  playin'  the  fool,  I  don't  know  who 
may  n't,"  ^aid  Dave.  "  When  did  it  happen,  Tom  ?" 

"Just  now,  within  the  last  hour,  Dave.  It's  a  pretty 
story  to  go  round  the  neighborhood,  ain't  it,  that  the  rich 
Tom  Walton  offered  himself  to  Catlett  's  hired  teacher, 
and  got  his  walkin'-ticket  ?" 

"  Is  that  so,  Tom  ?" 

"Well,  I  reckon.  And  what  do  you  s'pose  the  reason 
was,  Dave  ?" 

"  Because  she  's  a  woman,  I  reckon,  and  likes  to  be  con- 
trary ;  though  how  any  woman  in  her  senses  should  make 
up  her  rnoath  to  refuse  you,  is  more  than  I  can  see." 

"  I  believe  it  was  just  because  I  happen  to  be  the  rich 
Tom  Walton,  that  she  did  it,"  said  the  young  man,  bit- 
terly, 

"  No  I     You  don't  mean  that,  Tom  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  when  I  would  n't  take  no  for  an  answer, 


TOM     WALTON     PLAYS     THE     FOOL.  3o7 

but  must  set  before  her  a  few  of  the  advantages  she  would 
reap  by  being  my  wife,  she  stopped  me  short  enough,  by 
saying  that  if  there  was  nothing  else  in  the  way,  she  never 
u$>uld  marry  a  man  with  my  possessions.  I  vow  I  know 
plenty  of  girls  that  would  have  me  for  that  very  reason." 

"  What  did  she  mean  ?" 

"  Well,  I  suppose  she  meant  because  I  owned  niggers. 
I  've  known  all  along  she  was  a  bit  of  an  abolitionist,  but 
I  did  n't  think  she  would  have  carried  it  so  far.  I  did  ri't 
ask.  I  was  flinging  out  of  sight  of  the  girl  mad  enough, 
when  she  called  me  back  in  her  soft  way,  and  when  I 
would  n't  hear  to  her,  she  followed  me,  and  laid  her  hand  on 
my  arm.  I  could  n't  have  stirred  then,  any  more  than  if 
there  'd  been  a  dozen  stout  men  hold  of  me,  instead  ot 
one  puny  girl." 

"  How  you  talk,  Tom.  I  did  n't  think  you  were  so  deep 
in  love.  Did  she  make  it  up  with  you  ?" 

"  Did  I  make  it  up  with  her,  you  mean  ?  There  's  no 
being  mad  with  that  girl.  I  could  have  gone  down  on 
my  knees  to  her  that  minute  if  it  would  have  done  any 
good.  Heigh,  ho  !  Well,  let  it  pass." 

"  Yes,  I  don't  reckon  you  need  to  bother  yourself 
over  one  girl,  when  there's  twenty  to  be  had  for  the  ask- 
in'.  And  Tom,  between  you  and  I,  I  don't  believe  in 
marry  in'  for  love,  anyhow.  It 's  a  mighty  unsubstantial 
thing  to  live  on.  I  mean  to  look  out  for  something  more 
solid." 

"  That 's  your  view  of  the  matter,  is  it  ?" 

"  Yes  sir.  I  s'pose  I  've  had  my  fancies  as  well  as 
other  people,  but  I've  got  over  'em  all.  It 's  best  to  take 
a  common  sense  view  of  the  matter  after  all,  and  I  tell 
you  it 's  a  mighty  comfortable  thing  in  the  long  run  to 
have  a  snug  little  something  to  fail  back  on.  It  makes  up 
for  any  lackings  in  the  bride." 

15 


338  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

"What  a  venerable  old  philosopher." 

"  Well,  the  fact  is,  Tom,  I  'm  lazy.  There  's  no  gettin 
rid  of  that.  I  never  did  love  to  work,  and  if  I  can  find 
a  way  of  getting  shet  of  it  all  my  life,  who's  a  right  to 
find  any  fault  ?" 

J'  Nobody,  to  be  sure.  If  a  young  girl  that  I  know  of, 
as  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  and  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  would 
look  at  things  that  way,  the  rich  Tom  Walton  need  n't 
have  made  a  fool  of  himself  to-night." 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

TROUBLE     ON     THE     CLAIM, 

"  DAVE,  my  boy,  how  does  that  girl  Mailh}'  come  on?71 

"  O,  well  enough,  pa.  She  's  a  peeler  to  work,  though 
it  seems  as  if  the  devil  was  in  her.  She's  out,  Aunt  Ade- 
line says,  about  all  night,  and  comes  home  with  her  clothes 
half  in  rags.  But  as  long  as  she  's  bright  and  handy  day- 
times, I  don't  know  as  we  need  to  fret  about  her.  I  reckon 
it 's  all  straight." 

"  Keep  a  fast  look  out,  young  'un.  I  've  had  more  to 
do  with  niggers  than  you,  and  I  tell  you  it  won't  do  to 
give  'em  too  free  a  run.  I  've  seen  that  girl  myself  skulk- 
in'  round  after  night,  and  hang  me  if  I  like  the  looks  of  it. 
I  'm  afraid  she  's  up  to  some  deviltry." 

"  Well,  she  or  you  have  stopped  the  bullets,  pa;  that 's 
one  good  thing.  I  ain't  no  coward,  but  it  did  make  a  fel- 
low feel  kinder  crawley,  to  hear  a  ball  whizzin'  by  every 
now  and  then,  within  an  inch  of  his  nose,  and  not  know,  for 
the  life  of  him,  where  it  come  from." 

"  Well,  well,  boy,  keep  your  eye  peeled,  that 's  all  I  've 
got  to  say,  and  you  '11  scare  off  the  devils  after  a  while." 

This  conversation  occurred  between  father  and  son, 
after  several  weeks  of  the  visit  had  passed.  There  seemed 
to  be  great  quiet  just  now  among  the  mysterious  charac- 
ters w^ho  haunted  this  region.  A  bullet  had  not  whizzed 
by  for  a  fortnight,  nor  any  strange  accident  happened. 
The  place  was  really  getting  quite  comfortable  and  home- 


340  WESTERN     BORDER-    LIFE. 

like ;  Aunt  Adeline,  indeed,  insisted,  with  her  superior 
knowledge  of  demonology,  that  the  spirits  were  round 
just  as  ever,  only  pretending  to  keep  still,  so  as  to  come 
down  with  a  "  mighty  big  crash  by-and-by.  They  'd  cotch 
it  pretty  soon,  she  reckoned,  and  if  old  massa  knew  what 
was  good  for  himself,  he  'd  get  his  traps  together  and  go 
back  to  the  prairie  right  off." 

It  was  a  singular  coincidence,  which  afterwards  came  to 
their  knowledge,  that  on  these  very  days  old  Madam  Hes- 
ter, on  the  prairie,  from  her  chair  in  the  chimney-corner, 
muttered  dolefully  almost  all  the  time,  gesticulating  with 
her  skinny  fingers,  so  that  'Ria  declared  she  frightened 
her  half  to  death,  particularly  when  she  caught  such 
broken  sentences  as  the  following : 

"  They  are  all  murdered  !  O  trouble  and  sorrow  !  No 
good  !  No  good  !  Why  could  n't  they  be  coiuent  with 
what  they  had !  Always  gettin'  more  !  runs  in  4,he  blood ! 
O  me  !  O  me !" 

Aunt  Adeline's  predictions  were  in  some  measure  true. 
The  lull  preceded  a  tempest.  The  plans  of  the  conspira- 
tors, which  had  several  times  been  thwarted  when  upon 
the  verge  of  execution,  neared  their  completion.  With 
stealthy  steps,  night  after  night,  Martha  had  found  her 
way  to  the  lone  cabin  in  the  woods,  arid  held  whispered 
conferences  with  the  widow  and  her  son,  upon  the  safest 
and  most  certain  way  of  revenging  themselves.  At  these 
times,  Maitha  herself  was  astonished  at  the  bitterness  and 
deep  malignity  the  little  meek-eyed  woman  manifested, 
when  speaking  of  her  wrongs  and  their  perpetrators.  At 
such  times,  there  was  a  wild  look  in  her  eyes,  and  her 
hands  trembled  with  convulsive  energy,  as  she  vowed 
that  she  would  have  her  revenge. 

At  last,  the  eventful  night  arrived.  It  was  well  suited 
to  their  purpose,  as  black  and  starless  as  they  whose  deeds 


TROUBLE    ON    THE    CLAIM.  341 

being  evil,  "love  darkness  better  than  light,"  could  desire. 
It  was  early  when  the  two  commenced  their  work.  Steal- 
ing to  the  enclosure  where  the  cattle  were  kept,  they 
selected  Dave's  best  cows,  and  drove  them  to  their  own 
home  in  the  woods.  Dave  afterward  remembered  that 
waking  from  an  uneasy  slumber,  he  fancied  he  heard  "  old 
Brindle"  low  close  under  his  window,  and  wondered,  half 
dreaming,  whether  the  cattle  had  broken  their  enclosure. 
By  the  time  this  was  accomplished,  and  the  bars  of  tho 
cattle-yard  and  the  stable  let  down,  that  the  stock  and 
Mr.  Catlett's  fine  horses  might  escape  to  the  woods,  it 
was  long  past  midnight.  Martha,  to  avoid  suspicion,  had 
remained  at  home,  waiting  for  the  signal  which  was  to 
call  her  forth  to  her  part  of  the  night's  work.  It  came  at 
length,  and  stealing  forth  from  her  quarters,  she  joined 
her  companions  at  a  safe  distance  from  the  house. 

"Is  all  right,  Martha?"  whispered  the  widow,  eagrrly; 
"the  dogs  tied  and  the  light- wood  ready  ?" 

"  All  right,  missus,  and  ebery  soul  as  fast  as  a  log.'r 

"  Come,  then,  make  haste!  we  've  no  time  to  lose,  and 
the  hour  for  vengeance  is  come." 

Hurrying  before  them  with  feverish  impatience,  she  led 
them  to  a  pile  of  dry  under-brush,  which  Martha  had 
carefully  collected,  and  all  three  loading  themselves  with 
the  inflammable  material,  carried  it  to  the  cabins,  against 
which  they  carefully  piled  it.  Again  and  again  they  re- 
turned with  fresh  loads,  obeying  the  woman's  directions 
to  make  sure  work  of  it. 

"  Mother,"  said  Zi,  stopping  short  when  he  had  collected 
his  last  bundle,  "  it  goes  against  me  to  burn  up  the  old 
place,  which  father  and  I  worked  on  so  long.  Can't  we 
burn  t'other  one,  where  the  women  sleep,  and  leave  this." 

"  No,  boy,  no,  we  '11  burn  'em  both  to  the  ground ! 
Spare  neither  root  nor  branch,  man  nor  woman,  mastei 


342  WESTERN    BORDER     LIFE. 

nor  sla\e.  Do  you  suppose  I  could  live  under  the  roof, 
that  has  harbored  the  murderer  of  my  husband  ?  No,  no, 
Zi,  let  'em  all  perish  together !" 

"  O,  lors,  missus,  you  don't  mean  to  burn  up  de  folks, 
too,"  said  Martha,  opening  her  great  eyes  in  horror, 
"  You  did  n't  say  clat  afore.  I  can't  do  no  such  thing. 
'Pears  as  if  I  could  n't,  nohow.  Missus,  de  debble's  got 
you  to  think  of  doin'  dat  ar." 

"  No,  no,  you  goose,"  said  Zi.  "  We  don't  mean  to 
hurt  a  hair  of  their  heads.  Only  to  drive  'em  off  the 
place  and  spoil  all  their  goods.  Mother  don't  know  what 
she  says.  She 's  wild  to-night.  You  need  n't  look  so  at 
me,  girl,  1  give  you  my  word,  we  '11  give  'em  time  to 
escape.  But,  hark  you  !  if  you  betray  us,  you  are  a"  dead 
nigger  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye!  Do  you  understand  ?" 

"I  ain't  goin'  to  tell,  rnassa.  I  wants  to  see  Misa 
Car'line  turned  out  of  house  and  home  dis  cold  night. 
She  dat  let  Tilla  shiver  many  a  time  with  de  cold.  I  does 
so !  but  O,  lors,  I  is  sorry  for  de  teacher.  I  hopes  dar 
won't  no  harm  come  to  her." 

"  Stop  fooling  there,  Zi.     Hush  all  of  you,  what 's  that  ?" 

"It's that  pesky  dog,  mother;  I  was  feared  he'd  make 
us  trouble.  Crouch  down  here  in  the  bushes  awhile  till  he 
gets  quiet." 

"  O  !  to  be  disappointed  after  all,  when  so  near  my  re- 
venge," muttered  the  woman. 

"  'T  ain't  nothin',  missus,"  said  Martha ;  "  hold  on  a  :>it, 
and.  I  '11  still  de  dog.  He  knows  me." 

She  stole  from  her  covert,  and  returned  in  a  moment  to 
say  that  all  was  quiet. 

"  Now,  then,  waste  not  a  moment.  Set  fire  to  the 
cursed  pile,  and  let  me  see  it  burn  to  the  ground.  Run, 
boy !  This  is  the  last  bundle.  Stay,  give  me  your 
matches,  and  I  '11  light  the  pile  myself." 


TBOUBLE    ON    THE    CLAIM.  343 

She  seized  the  box,  and  hastening  forward,  set  the  piles 
in  a  blaze,  her  hand  trembling,  and  her  heart  beating  with 
excitement. 

"Quite  cheerful  and  warm,  this  cold  night,  mother," 
said  the  boy,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  Warm  to  the  heart  that  sees  an  enemy  ruined." 

"  Lors,  how  it  crackles.  Now  let 's  holler,  or  they  '11  all 
be  burnt  up,"  said  Martha. 

"  Open  your  mouth  if  you  dare,  you  cowardly  nigger. 
Do  you  think  we  want  it  put  out  with  a  bucket  of  water  ? 
The  thing  must  be  done  sure.  Keep  still,  don't  say  a 
word.  I  '11  give  the  alarm." 

Fiercely  glared  the  flame  amid  the  darkness,  lighting 
up  the  three  faces  which  glowed  in  fiendish  malice  at  the 
scene,  and  dancing,  crackling,  flashing,  as  though  joining 
in  their  glee.  Higher  and  higher  it  leaped,  lapping  the 
sides  of  the  low  cabins  with  its  red  tongues,  now  rising, 
now  falling,  and  now  rushing  in  wild  eddies  round  tho 
building.  Still  there  was  no  stir  within. 

"  O,  lors,  massa,  I  must  holler.  Dey  '11  be  burnt  up, 
sure.  Why  don't  dey  wake  ?" 

"  Come,  mother,  run  now,  while  I  give  the  alarm.  It  'a 
time,  as  the  girl  says." 

"  And  why  should  we  wake  them  ?"  said  the  woman. 
44  Has  n't  the  Lord  put  a  deep  sleep  on  them  to  their  de- 
struction. Go  away,  boy,  go  away,  I  '11  stay  and  see  the 
end.  Martha — where  has  that  girl  gone  ?" 

Martha  had  seized  the  moment,  and  quick  as  thought 
rushed  into  the  cabin  where  Fanny  slept. 

"  Quick,  Miss  Fanny  !  O,  quick!  De  house  is  on  fire  ! 
They  sha'n't  burn  you  to  death !  Get  up !  Get  up !  I 
gay." 

Roused  from  a  deep  slumber,  Fanny  sprang  to  her  feet. 
The  room  was  full  of  smoke,  and  the  floor  felt  hot  beneath 


344  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

her,  while  a  bright  light  filled  the  building.  Before  she 
could  speak  the  girl  was  in  the  other  cabin  giving  the 
alarm.  All  was  terror  and  confusion.  The  fire  was  ad- 
vancing so  rapidly  that  but  little  could  be  done,  and  the 
men  finding  it  impossible  to  save  the  cabin,  soon  gave  up 
the  attempt.  Mrs.  Catlett,  who  had  retained  barely 
presence  of  mind  sufficient  to  hurry  on  her  clothes,  ran 
from  one  room  to  the  other,  wringing  her  hands  in  impo- 
tent distress,  while  the  two  black  women  clung  to  her 
skirts,  and  screamed  and  howled  in'  sympathy.  Fanny 
alone  seemed  capable  of  taking  the  lead,  and  with  Nanny's 
assistance,  succeeded  in  saving  the  greater  part  of  their 
clothing,  by  far  the  most  valuable  articles  in  the  house. 
The  furniture  and  bedding  were  left  to  their  fate.  By  this 
time  it  was  unsafe  to  remain  longer  in  either  cabin,  and 
houseless  and  forlorn  the  family  stood  upon  the  open 
prairie,  watching  the  destruction  of  their  late  habitation. 

Mrs.  Catlett  and  Nanny  tilled  the  air  with  their  lament- 
ations,  but  the  squire  and  Dave  looked  on  in  gloomy 
silence. 

"  Look  yonder,  Miss  Car'line,  dar  's  two  folks  runnin'. 
Dar,  jest  by  dat  clump  of  trees.  See  'em." 

Dave  sent  a  shot  in  the  direction  pointed  out,  where, 
by  the  light  of  the  fire,  two  figures  could  be  distinctly 
seen,  running  as  fast  as  their  feet  could  carry  them.  The 
noise  of  the  report  was  followed  by  a  shrill  laugh  be- 
hind, and  turning,  they  perceived,  by  the  gray  light  of 
the  morning,  the  figure  of  a  woman,  standing  with  out- 
stretched arms,  half-way  up  the  hill. 

"There's  one  of  the  devils!  Shall  I  shoot,  pa?"  said 
Dave. 

"  Yes,  do  !"  said  the  woman,  laughing  again,  "  murder 
the  wife  as  you  murdered  her  husband  ;  it  would  make  a 
nretty  end  to  the  night's  adventures.  Does  your  mother 


1BOOBLE    ON    THE    CLAIM.  345 

like  her  quarters,  boy?  It's  a  comfortable  night  to  be 
turned  out  of  house  and  home  !  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Fire  away, 
boy.  I  can  die  in  peace  with  such  a  pretty  sight  before 
ne." 

"  Curse  the  she  devil !     Pa,  just  say  the  word." 

"  Put  down  your  gun,  boy !  Would  you  fire  on  a  woman  ?" 

"  Ha !  ha  !  ha !  Do  you  remember  the  widow's  curse  ? 
Has  your  land  yielded  and  your  flocks  increased  ?  Have 
f ou  grown  fat  on  the  widow's  inheritance  ?  Answer  me 
that,  Jack  Catlett !" 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Catlett,  send  that  horrid  wo- 
man away,"  said  Mrs.  Catlett. 

"He  sent  her  away  once  with  her  fatherless  children," 
said  the  woman,  after  a  pause ;  for  Mr.  Catlett  stood  in 
moody  silence.  "  He  sent  her  away  once,  my  dear,  but 
she 's  come  back  to  curse  him.  Let  him  try  it  again,  if 
he  will.  Let  him  tempt  the  widow's  curse.  Ha !  ha !" 

With  her  wild  laugh  ringing  in  their  ears,  she  disap- 
peared among  the  trees.  Mr.  Catlett  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  looked  about  him. 

"Well,  what 's  to  be  done  now,"  said  his  wife,  in  a  que- 
rulous tone ;  "  are  we  to  stand  here  shivering  all  day, 
with  that  horrid  creature  in  the  woods  to  fire  on  us.  O 
dear !  what  did  we  ever  come  here  for  ?" 

"  Jerry,  bring  some  of  those  embers  and  a  little  light 
wood,  and  we  '11  have  a  fire.  Are  the  horses  all  lost  ?" 

"  Please,  massa,"  said  Uncle  Tim,  coming  forward,  "  I 
cotched  old  Poke  Neck  and  one  of  de  farm  hosses  jest 
back  in  de  woods.  I 's  tied  'em  yonder  to  a  tree." 

"  Well,  hitch  'em  to  the  farm  wagon,  and  put  in  those 
trunks  and  other  traps.  Do  you  hear?  We  must  get 
back  to  the  prairie  about  the  quickest." 

"  I  'm  as  faint  as  death  for  the  want  of  something  to 
eat,"  murmured  Mrs.  Catlett. 

15* 


346  WESTEKN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

"  Is  the  smoke-house  burnt  up,  too  ?"  said  her  husband, 
"  Jerry,  go  look  in  the  ashes,  and  see  if  you  can't  find 
some  bacon." 

The  man  soon  returned,  bringing  two  or  three  black- 
ened, half  cooked  pieces,  from  which  the  family  break- 
fasted, after  which  they  huddled  into  the  farm  wagon, 
servants  and  all,  and  in  doleful  plight  started  for  the 
prairie. 

u  Where  alive  is  that  Martha  ?"  said  Mrs.  Catlett,  sud- 
denly ;  "  I  have  n't  seen  the  girl  since  the  fire." 

"  You  are  not  like  to,  either,"  said  Dave.  "  Curse  the 
girl !  I  told  you  no  good  would  come  of  sending  her  to 
me.  She  was  head  one  in  the  devil's  plot  they  've  hatched 
up  against  us." 

"  Jinny,"  whispered  Adeline,  as  the  two  were  squatted 
close  together  in  the  back  of  the  wagon,  "  it 's  a  mighty 
bad  ting  to  get  turned  out  ob  doors  sich  a  cold  night ;  but 
dar's  good  come  out  ob  it,  for  it 's  brought  ole  massa  to 
his  senses,  and  we  's  goin'  back  to  de  prairie.  For  luy 
part,  T  's  glad  to  say  good-by  to  dis  yer  place  " 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

SIEGE      OF      LAWRENCE. 

IT  was  on  the  morning  of  the  second  of  December  that 
Mr.  Catlett  and  his  family  responded  to  the  writ  of  eject- 
ment from  the  claim  served  on  them  by  the  widow  of  the 
murdered  man  and  her  son.  It  was  a  sad,  chilled,  irri- 
tated company,  which  old  "Poke  Neck"  and  his  coadjutor 
drew  along  toward  La  Belle  Prairie.  The  day  was  clear 
and  cold,  and  the  sun  shone  brightly  on  the  scene.  The 
ride  was  mostly  taken  in  moody  silence,  interrupted  now 
and  then  by  the  congratulatory  chatting  of  Aunt  Adeline, 
who  regarded  the  whole  affair  with  evident  satisfaction. 

About  noon,  Dave  descried  some  large  body,  which 
kerned  to  be  moving  toward  them,  and  called  his  father's 
attention  to  it.  Mr.  Catlett  paid  no  heed  to  the  boy  for  a 
long  time;  but  as  it  approached  nearer  and  nearer,  his 
face  assumed  an  anxious  expression ;  and  turning  to  his 
son  he  said : 

44  Dave,  it 's  the  army  for  Kanzas.  I  heard  yesterday 
they  were  about  marching  to  Lawrence,  but  I  hoped  we 
should  get  the  start  of  'em  one  day  at  least.  What  shall 
we  do  ?  There  's  no  use  trying  to  get  away,  for  you 
could  n't  worry  Poke  Neck  off  a  walk.  Meet  'em  we 
must,  for  all  that  I  can  see." 

"Well,  pa,  and  what's  the  harm.  We  are  friends,  I 
e'pose.  The  ladies  can  cover  up  their  faces  if  they  don't 


848  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

want  to  see  so  many  men ;  and  as  for  you  and  I,  we  '11 
bear  the  laugh  they  raise  against  us,  for  being  seen  in  this 
plight,  and  get  by  as  quick  as  we  can." 

"  You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  boy 
Don't  you  know  it 's  one  of  the  rules  of  these  fellows  not 
to  let  any  body  pass?  Wife  and  girls,  what  do  you  think 
of  joining  an  army  and  besieging  Lawrence?" 

"  O  !  Mr.  Catlett,  you  are  crazy.  They  would  n't  think 
of  making  us  turn  about,  would  they  ?  Mercy  on  us, 
what  shall  we  do  ?" 

The  young  ladies  said  nothing,  but  their  faces  expressed 
any  thing  but  pleasure  at  the  idea. 

"  Well,  don't  borrow  trouble,"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  care- 
lessly ;  "  I  don't  reckon  you  '11  have  to  do  it.  They  are 
all  people  from  about  the  prairie,  and  know  Jack  Catlett 
well  enough  to  trust  him  for  a  safe  person.  So  don't 
fret.  And,  Dave,  see  to  the  priming  of  the  guns.  Some 
of  these  fellows  may  have  too  much  whisky  aboard." 

The  army,  for  such  it  turned  out  to  be,  of  two  or  three 
hundred,  from  the  region  about  La  Belle  Prairie,  had  now 
arrived  within  hailing  distance,  when  up  rode  the  officer 
in  command,  with  a  rusty  sword  and  dilapidated  feather, 
being  no  less  a  person  than  our  gallant  Colonel  Joe  Turner, 
and  not  a  whit  better  off  for  the  liquor  he  had  drank  since 
morning.  Stopping  short  in  mid  career,  as  he  caught  his 
neighbor  in  the  farm-wagon,  niggers  and  all,  he  burst  into 
a  loud  laugh. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  Catlett,  where  on  airth  did  you  come 
from  in  such  aristocratic  shape  ?  Got  Dave  and  all  his 
tribe.  Well,  well,  going  to  leave  the  claim,  and  show  the 
white  feather  to  those  devils  that 's  playing  antics  on  the 
place,  hey  ?" 

"Just  take  your  drunken  squad  along,  colonel,"  said 
Squire  Catlett,  and  let  me  pass  with  my  ladies.  "  When 


SIEGE    OF    LAWRENCE  349 

you  are  yourself,  sir,  I  will  explain  the  particulars.     So 
start  up  Poke  Neck,  William." 

"  Hold  !  neighbor  Catlett,  not  quite  so  fast,  my  fine  fel- 
low !  We  don't  let  any  body  pass,  friend  or  foe,  that 's 
one  of  our  oaths.  Besides,  we  want  you  and  your  son  in 
the  enterprise.  Man  of  means,  you  know,  squire.  Foot 
the  bills !  A  pretty  story  it  would  be  for  you  to  stay  at 
home  with  your  wife  and  babies,  when  your  countrymen 
are  fighting  for  their  rights.  Why,  neighbor  Catlett,  it  'a 
a  glorious  work  we  are  engaged  in.  We  are  going  tc 
fight  to  the  death,  and  exterminate  every  scoundrel  from 
Kanzas,  that 's  tainted  with  free-soilism  or  abolitionism. 
Is  it  a  time  for  brave  men  to  hold  back  ?  Come,  come, 
Catlett,  face  about.  We'll  give  you  better  mounting, 
and  as  for  the  ladies,  there  sha'n't  a  hair  of  their  heads  be 
hurt." 

"  I  tell  you  I  sha'n't  do  it.  You  know  well  enough, 
colonel,  there  's  no  shirk-liver  about  me.  I  'm  up  to  the 
scratch,  and  I'll  pay  my  part,  and  do  my  part,  too,  but 
these  ladies  must  be  landed  safe  first ;  I  promised  'em,  and 
my  name  ain't  Catlett,  if  I  don't  fulfill.  I  tell  you,  Dave 
and  I  will  be  with  you  to-morrow,  or  next  day.  Come  ! 
can't  you  trust  an  old  neighbor  ?  I  're  said  once,  and  I 
say  again,  my  name  ain't  Catlett,  if  I  d  f>n't  see  these  ladies 
safe  home  to-night." 

"  Then  it  ain't  Catlett,  for  go  you  ahall,"  said  another 
voice,  and  the  squire  recognized  in  the  person  approach- 
ing, a  man  great  on  the  borders.  "  We  '11  let  not  a  live 
soul,  friend  or  foe,  man  or  woman,  go  by  us.  That 's  a 
fixed  thing  with  us.  Ladies,  your  servant,"  he  continued, 
touching  his  hat  to  the  frightened  finales.  "You  need 
feel  no  alarm ;  you  shall  receive  the  best  of  treatment, 
We  already  have  one  woman  among  t>  e  soldiers,  shoulcW. 
ing  her  musket  like  the  revolutionary  iait»e«." 


850  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

"Is  that  Gamby  along?"  said  Catlett.  "Hang  me! 
but  you  don't  call  her  a  woman  ?  At  any  rate  my  women 
ain't  of  her  build.  So  if  you  don't  want  a  muss,  just  let 
us  go  on,"  and  the  squire  began  to  flush,  and  bluster,  and 
roll  out  big  oaths,  not  proper  to  be  uttered  in  the  presence 
of  ladies,  or  anywhere  else. 

"  Let's  let  him  go,"  said  Colonel  Turner  to  the  men  about 
1  dm,  who  seemed  to  be  chief.  "  It 's  plaguy  hard  !" 

"  No,  no,  not  by  a  great  sight,  I  tell  you.  What  a 
pink-livered  chap  you  are,  Joe.  Had  n't  you  better  make 
another  confession  at  Mount  Zion  Church  ?" 

The  worthy  colonel  turned  a  look  of  fury  on  the  speaker, 
and  opened  his  mouth  to  reply,  but  changing  his  mind  on 
the  subject,  remained  silent. 

"  You  understand,  Mr.  Catlett,"  said  the  great  man  of 
the  border,  "  that  this  is  a  principle  with  us,  and  not  in 
the  least  disrespectful  to  you  or  your  ladies.  We  have 
made  our  plans,  and  if  we  give  up  one  point,  we  may  a 
dozen.  We  must  stick  to  it  to  the  letter." 

"  That 's  it !  I  likes  that !"  said  a  voice  from  the  rankei, 
"  it 's  constitutional." 

"  Let 's  give  one  shot  apiece  at  the  unmannerly  scamps, 
and  then  rush  by  'em,  pa,"  said  Dave. 

"  O !  for  heaven's  sake,  Mr.  Catlett,  give  up  to  em," 
said  his  wife.  u  They  '11  murder  us  all  if  you  don't. 
Dave,  put  down  your  gun  this  minute.  Well,  if  this  ain't 
trouble,  I  'd  like  to  know  what  is." 

No  other  course  seemed  to  present  itself  to  Mr.  Catlett. 
for  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he  took  his  wife's  advice, 
and  expressed  his  willingness  to  turn  about. 

"Now  you  talk  like  a  sensible  fellow,"  said  Colonel 
Joe.  "Bring  those  horses  up  from  the  rear,  some  of 
you,  and  we'll  mount  the  squire  and  his  son  in  good 
shape.  And  look  here,  neighbor,  put  your  niggewj  back 


SIEGE    OP    LAWRENCE.  351 

in  one  of  the  baggage-wagons,  and  let  the  ladies  have 
more  room." 

The  arrangements  were  soon  made  ;  the  farm-wagon  con- 
taining the  ladies,  placed  in  rear  of  the  main  body,  while 
Mr.  Catlett  and  his  son,  well  mounted,  kept  close  at  its 
Bide,  and  after  an  hour's  delay,  the  army  thus  reinforced, 
moved  on. 

As  they  passed  the  claim,  the  ruins  still  smoking,  were 
visible,  but  Catlett  turned  away  his  head,  and  as  the 
cabins  stood  a  little  under  the  swell  of  the  hill,  no  one 
else  noticed  their  destruction,  unless  it  might  have  been 
Colonel  Joe  Turner,  who  also  had  his  reasons  for  avoiding 
the  topic. 

Martha,  from  one  of  her  skulking-places,  observed  the 
cavalcade,  and  soon  discovering  that  her  master  and  mis- 
tress with  the  young  ladies,  were  of  the  number,  she 
hovered  about  at  a  safe  distance,  liko  an  evil  angel,  ready 
for  mischief.  So  the  army  moved  on  toward  Lawrence. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

THE     ST.     LOUIS     PRISONERS. 

BEFORE  the  army  entered  Kanzas,  tvro  of  our  dramatis 
personce  were  traversing  the  Territory  from  a  contrary 
direction.  They  were  now  approaching  the  road  to  Law- 
rence, along  which  these  valiant  soldiers  will,  almost  at 
the  same  time,  pass.  They  are  engaged  in  earnest  con- 
versation. One  is  an  old  gentleman  of  fine  open  counte- 
nance, the  other  by  far  his  junior,  but  resembling  him  in 
his  genial  nature.  Let  us  draw  near  and  listen  to  them. 

"  Harry  Chester,"  said  the  elder  of  the  two,  suddenly 
checking  his  horse,  and  turning  full  upon  his  companion, 
"  you  are  a  fool." 

The  young  man  received  this  flattering  announcement 
with  a  smile. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  "  I  'm  out  of  all 
patience  with  you.  A  young  man  that 's  got  the  start  in 
life  that  you  have,  to  throw  up  his  profession  for  a  foolish 
whim.  I  tell  you  it 's  downright  folly." 

"  I  think  not,  sir,"  said  Harry  Chester,  respectfully ;  "  I 
see  it  very  clearly  to  be  my  duty." 

"Fiddlestick's  ends!  What  do  you  call  duty?  To 
give  up  a  profession  in  which  you  are  bound  to  rise,  and 
that  yields  you  now  a  couple  of  thousand  a  year,  lose  a 
year  or  two  in  getting  a  smattering  of  Greek  and  Hebrew, 
and  for  what  ?  Why,  to  wear  a  long  face  and  a  black 
coat,  and  dwindle  down  into  a  country  parson." 


1HE    ST.     LOUIS    PRISONERS.  353 

"And  to  accomplish  more  goo},  perhaps,  in  ten  years 
as  a  minister  of  the  Gospel,  than  I  should  in  a  whole  life- 
time settling  quibbles  of  law.  No.  no!  judge,  this  is  not 
a  hasty  resolution  that  I  have  taken  up.  Two  years  ago, 
when  I  first  became  a  Christian,  it  was  my  earnest  desire  to 
study  for  the  ministry ;  but  circumstances  then  seemed  so 
peremptorily  to  forbid  it,  that  I  tried  to  give  up  the  idea. 
Since  then  it  has  impressed  itself  more  and  more  strongly 
upon  my  mind  ;  and  now  that  my  aunt's  death  has  opened 
the  way  by  providing  me  the  means,  I  dare  not  refuse  to 
take  up  the  work.  My  heart  is  in  it  too,  and  I  know  of 
no  profession  half  as  dignified  and  noble  as  that  of  a  faith- 
ful minister  of  Jesus  Christ." 

"  And  I  know  of  no  common  field  laborer  that  works 
harder,  or  is  half  so  much  the  public  drudge.  Our  minis- 
ters, novv-a-days,  are  over-worked  and  under-paid.  I  can 
see  it  all.  You  will  be  a  worn-out,  broken-down  man 
before  you  are  forty  years  old.  Come !  come !  Harry, 
take  an  old  man's  advice.  I  have  n't  been  a  bad  friend 
to  you." 

"  You  have  been  a  father  to  me,"  said  Harry  Chester, 
warmly,  "and  I  respect  your  opinions  more  than  those 
of  any  other  man  living.  It  is  only  the  strongest  sense 
of  duty  that  leads  me  to  act  contrary  to  your  advice.  I 
wish  you  could  look  at  this  matter  as  I  see  it.  The  wealth 
or  the  reputation  that  I  might  gain  in  rny  profession,  seem 
of  little  weight  compared  with  the  happiness  of  spending 
a  life  in  my  Master's  vineyard,  in  leading  souls  to  Christ, 
if  I  may  indeed  be  so  blessed,  and  of  meeting  them  at  the 
last  day  as  crowns  of  rejoicing.  Who  would  exchange 
the  bliss  of  that  moment  for  all  the  wealth  and  honors 
that  this  world  can  bestow." 

"  Come !  come  !"  said  the  judge,  impatiently,  "  don't 
preach  your  first  sermon  before  you  are  licensed.  It  is 


354  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

of  no  use  talking  with  you.  I  see  you  are  quite  as  head- 
strong as  I  thought  ^ou.  For  my  part,  I  don't  put  the 
good  things  of  this  life  so  low  in  the  scale.  I  think  a  com- 
fortable support  against  one's  old  age,  is  a  grand  good 
thing.  But,  there !  we  won't  quarrel  about  it.  If  you 
will  be  blind  to  your  own  interests,  I  can't  help  it,  that 's 
all." 

"  And  you  will  not  entirely  cast  me  off?"  said  Harry 
Chester,  "even  if  you  do  think -me  a  poor,  blind,  deluded 
fellow.  I  should,  indeed,  be  making  a  sacrifice  if  I  Tost 
you  for  my  friend." 

"  No,  no,  Harry,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  No,  no, 
there  's  a  warm  corner  for  you  in  my  heart  yet ;  and  if 
you  can  bear  with  the  old  man's  scoldings,  he  can  bear 
with  the  young  man's  folly.  And  now,  the  next  thing 
will  be  to  talk  it  over  with  that  little  girl  4  up  the  country,7 
I  suppose.  She 's  quite  romantic  enough  to  start  off  with 
you  on  a  mission,  or  enter  into  any  other  project  for  the 
evangelization  of  the  world.  She  knows  all  about  it,  per- 
haps  already — hey  ?" 

"  She  knows  nothing,  sir,"  said  Harry  Chester.  H.V 
had  suddenly  grown  very  sober. 

"  It 's  time  she  did,  then,"  said  the  judge.  "  Why,  man 
do  you  think  she  will  give  you  your  walking-ticket,  that 
you  are  afraid  to  tell  her.  She  's  got  too  little  worldly 
wisdom  for  that.  You  '11  be  mated  exactly,  and  starve 
together  in  perfect  content,  I  doubt  not." 

"  We  shall  never  have  the  opportunity,  judge." 

"And  why  not  ?  What  makes  you  look  so  sober  about 
it  ?  has  she  said  no,  or  have  you  changed  your  mind  about 
her  ?  I'm  sure  you  told  me  once  that  you  meant  to  win 
her  if  you  could." 

"I  did,"  said  the  young  man,  with  evident  agitation. 
"She  is  everything  that  is  good  and  lovely.  She  was 


THE    ST.     LOUIS    PRISONERS.  355 

dearer  to  me  than  all  the  world  beside  ;  but  that  is  passed, 
and  it  has  been  my  constant  effort  for  weeks  to  forget 
her." 

"  And  why  ?" 

'  Because  I  have  learned  from  a  reliable  source  that 
she  is  engaged  to  another.  O,  it  was  a  cruel  blow,"  said 
the  young  man. 

"  It  is  not  true,  Harry.  I  know  perfectly  well  to  the 
contrary.  Somebody  has  been  deceiving  you.  Did  it 
come  from  Fanny  herself?  Unless  it  did,  don't  you  be- 
lieve a  word  of  it!" 

"  It  did  not  come  from  her,"  said  Harry  Chester,  "  but 
from  one  who  had  every  means  of  knowing." 

"  Nevertheless  it  is  a  mistake,"  said  the  Judge.  "  I 
know  it  to  be  so,  from  the  girl  herself;  for  once  when  I 
was  joking  with  her,  I  forced  her  to  confess  that  she  wras 
heart-free.  Now,  is  she  one  to  deceive  me,  even  in  jest  ? 
No,  Harry,  depend  upon  it,  she  is  yours  for  the  asking 
and  perhaps  this  very  day  is  pining  over  your  coldness 
and  indifference." 

"  Your  confidence  gives  me  a  faint  ray  of  hope,"  said 
his  companion.  "  There  may  be  a  mistake ;  I  have  de- 
spaired too  soon,  and  I  will  know  the  truth  from  her  own 
lips,,  at  any  rate;  but  look,  Judge,  just  below  the  fork  in 
the  road,  isn't  that  a  body  of  men  I  see  yonder?" 

"  It  certainly  looks  very  much  like  it,"  said  the  Judge. 
"  I  did  n't  know  there  were  so  many  men  in  Kanzas.  Harry, 
see  to  your  pistols  !  I  don't  like  their  appearance." 

Just  as  they  were  turning  into  the  main  road,  they  en- 
countered a  small  party  of  a  dozen  or  so  from  the  army> 
who  had  advanced  to  arrest  them. 

"Stand!  You  are  our  prisoners!"  said  Colonel  Joe 
Turner, 

"  By  what  right  or  authority  ?     Sb  ow  us  your  precept.'* 


356  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

"  By  right  of  might.     Do  you  want  to  dispute  that  ?" 

"  But  we  are  free  citizens,  traveling  on  business,  which 
can  not  be  delayed,  and  we  warn  you  not  to  impede  us.*' 

"  Nevertheless  we  despise  your  warning,  and  will  force 
you  to  wait  oui'  leisure." 

"  But  what  does  this  mean  ?  Who  are  you,  that  take 
upon  yourselves  to  stop  peaceable  travelers,  and  compel 
them  to  obey  ?  What  is  all  this  army  gathered  for,  and 
where  are  you  going  ?" 

44  To  secure  the  rights  of  the  South,  and  the  triumph  of 
slavery.  Hey !  young  man,  what  means  that  curl  of  the 
lip  ?  Are  you  an  abolitionist?" 

44  No  matter  what  I  am,"  said  Harry  Chester,  4C I  claim 
the  protection  of  the  law  and  my  country." 

Seeing  resistance  impossible,  and  relying  upon  their  own 
uprightness,  they  yielded  to  their  captors,  and  were  im- 
mediately placed  under  guard. 

In  a  few  hours  the  army  had  joined  the  forces  at  Law 
reiice.  The  next  day  Tom  Walton  rode  up  on  his  prano 
inft  gray. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

THE     FLIGHT     TO     THE     FKEE-SOILEES; 

THE  weather  was  extremely  unpropitious.  The  rain 
full  in  torrents,  and  almost  deluged  the  camp.  A  deserted 
house  on  the  outskirts  of  Lawrence  had  been  appro- 
priated to  the  ladies,  and  every  attention  which  was  practi- 
cable was  paid  to  them.  Indeed,  compared  with  those 
about  them,  their  quarters  were  quite  comfortable.  Dave 
and  Catlett  chose  to  take  soldiers'  fare,  camping  out,  near 
by  the  building. 

It  was  an  hour  or  so  past  mid-day  when  they  arrived. 
A  court-martial  was  immediately  held,  and  both  the 
prisoners  were  condemned  to  be  hung  on  the  morrow. 
The  young  man,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  when 
allowed  to  speak  in  his  defense,  had  most  unguardedly 
given  free  utterance  to  his  sentiments,  believing  himself 
in  a  free  country,  and  had  even  denounced  slavery,  and 
its  extension  into  this  new  region,  with  great  eloquence  and 
power. 

The  whisky-drinking  court,  which  sat  in  judgment,  were 
excessively  enraged  at  his  abolition  opinions,  and  at  once 
passed  sentence  of  death  upon  him.  They  deliberated 
longer  over  the  judge,  whose  judicious  reserve,  and  digni- 
fied bearing,  seemed  to  put  the  cowardly  ruffians  in  fear. 
At  length  they  mustered  courage  to  decree  his  execution 
also.  So  they  were  both  remanded  to  their  quarters,  to 
be  carefully  guarded  till  the  next  day.  The  place  of  their 


358  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

confinement  was  to  be  the  opposite  room  from  that  occu- 
pied by  the  ladies,  in  the  same  deserted  house. 

Fanny  was  looking  out  upon  the  drizzly  day  in  a  de- 
sponding mood,  when  the  crowd  ushered  the  prisoners 
along  to  their  quarters.  As  they  passed  the  window 
where  she  stood,  the  younger  suddenly  looked  up,  turn- 
ing  full  upon  her,  a  face,  which  though  paler  and  sterner 
than  she  had  ever  seen  it,  she  could  by  no  possibility 
mistake.  It  was  but  for  an  instant,  the  crowd  closed 
about  him,  and  he  was  gone,  yet  in  that  instant  the 
agony  she  experienced,  as  the  whole  extent  of  his  dan- 
ger flashed  through  her  mind,  convinced  her  how  large  a 
place  he  occupied  in  her  heart. 

With  a  faint  expression  of  surprise,  she  started  back 
from  the  window,  and  Nanny,  who,  in  the  further  part  of 
the  room,  was  making  her  toilet  to  receive  her  beau, 
young  Turner,  asked,  in  amazement,  "  What  was  the 
matter  ?" 

"  O,  Nanny,  I  have  seen  one  of  the  prisoners." 

"  Well,  what  of  it  ?  You  look  more  as  though  you  had 
seen  a  ghost.  Why,  Miss  Fanny,  what  ails  you  ?  How 
you  tremble." 

"  Nanny,  it  is  Harry  Chester,  of  St.  Louis,"  gasped 
Fanny. 

"  Harry  Chester !  O,  Fanny,  it  can't  be.  Are  you 
sure  ?" 

"  I  saw  him  this  moment  pass  the  window ;  and,  Nanny, 
he  is  locked  up  in  this  very  house  with  us,  and  to-rnorrow 
morning  he  will  be  led  out  to  die.  I  heard  them  say  so. 
O,  what  shall  we  do  ?» 

"  And  the  other  ?  who  can  the  other  be  ?  If  pa  and 
Dave  were  only  here." 

**  Where  are  they  ?  Can't  we  find  them  ?  Something 
must  be  done  without  loss  of  time." 


FLIGHT    TO     THE     FREE- BOILERS.  3f>9 

11  i  have  n't  the  least  idea.  Miss  Fanny.  I  have  n't  seen 
t*  *m  since  noon,  and  it  is  n't  safe  to  trust  ourselves  out 
of  doors." 

"Nevertheless,  Nanny,  we  must  help  these  men  to 
escape — you  and  I." 

"  But  how  ?  They  have  put  a  guard  of  half  a  dozen 
men  at  least  in  the  passage,  and  locked  them  in  tight  be- 
sides. We  can't  do  the  first  thing." 

"  We  can  and  we  must.  0 !  is  there  no  one  to  help 
us  ?» 

"  Bob  will  be  here  directly,  Miss  Fanny.  He  will  do 
what  he  can ;  but,  lors,  we  can't  save  them,  I  know." 

"  So  he  will,  but  O,  Nanny !  there  's  no  time  to  lose. 
'  To-morrow  at  dawn,'  said  that  cruel  man  ;  '  to-morrow  at 
dawn,  you  rebels,  you  die.  So  say  your  prayers  faithfully, 
the  young  one  is  parson  enough,  and  prepare  for  death.' " 

"  O,  it 's  dreadful,  Miss  Fanny ;  such  a  pretty  young 
man,  too ;  but  what  can  we  do  ?" 

Fanny  was  examining  the  walls.  "  Nanny,"  she  said, 
"is  the  opposite  room  just  like  this?" 

"  Exactly,  for  I  peeped  in  this  morning.  You  see  there 's 
only  these  two  rooms  in  the  house,  with  that  great  wide 
passage  between,  and  the  loft  overhead,  and  the  guard  are 
in  the  passage,  and  there's  no  possibility  of  getting  to 
them  to  help  them." 

"  Except  from  the  outside,  Nanny.  And  see,  how  this 
mud  between  the  cracks  in  the  logs  crumbles  away  al- 
most at  a  touch.  Nanny,  I  have  it !  We  must  get  them 
a  saw,  and  let  them  cut  their  way  through  the  logs.  That 
will  do.  O,  I  do  believe  we  can  save  them." 

"  But  what  will  they  do  after  they  get  out  ?  The  camp 
are  all  about  us.  They  would  be  seen  the  very  first  thing. 
Then  where  can  we  get  the  saw,  or  get  it  to  them  ?  and 
do  you  reckon  they  would  n't  make  some  noise  in  sawing 


360  \\  E  S  T  E  R  N     1)  O  Jl  D  E  li     LIFE. 

their  way  through  these  great  thick  logs?  O,  Fanny,  I 
will  help  you  all  I  can,  but  it  does  seem  as  if  you  was  wild." 

"  No,  no,  Nanny,  I  never  felt  calmer  or  more  self-pos- 
sessed in  my  life.  Uncle  Tim  has  a  hand  saw  in  the  farm- 
wagon  ;  I  saw  it  this  morning.  After  night  we  will  steal 
out  and  get  it  to  them  through  the  cracks.  Bob  Turner 
must  ha\e  some  horses  ready  at  a  safe  distance,  and  be  on 
hand  outside,  to  lead  them  out  of  the  camp.  Do  you  not 
see  ?  and  God  will  help  us,  and  I  feel  that  we  shall  suc- 
ceed. And  Nanny,"  she  continued,  glancing  at  the  chair 
where  Mrs.  Catlett,  worn  cut  with  fatigue  and  anxiety, 
had  fallen  fast  asleep,  "  we  will  not  vex  your  mother  Miteh 
this,  if  we  can  help  it.  Get  veady  as  fast  as  you  can  to  see 
Bob,  while  I  look  for  Uncle  Tim." 

That  worthy  fellow  was  not  far  off,  and  when  Fanny 
opened  the  window  and  beckoned  him  to  approach,  her 
summons  was  obeyed  with  the  greatest  alacrity. 

"  Well,  now,  what  does  Miss  Fanny  want  ob  a  saw,  any- 
how?" he  said  in  reply  to  her  whispered  request.  "If 
dar's  any  little  job  she  want  done  in  dat  line,  Uncle  Tim's 
de  feller,  anyhow." 

"  No,  Tim,  it  is  nothing  that  you  can  do.  No  matter 
what  I  want  of  it.  You  must  keep  perfectly  still,  and  say 
not  a  word  to  any  one.  Hide  it  under  your  jacket — or 
stay — bring  it  in  with  an  armful  of  light  wood.  Can 
you  ?  If  you  bring  it  to  me  safely,  it  will  be  a  great  favor 
that  I  shall  never  forget  as  long  as  I  live.  Can  I  trust 
you,  Tim  ?" 

"To  de  ends  ob  de  airth,  Miss  Fanny." 

At  this  moment,  Bob  Turner,  spruced  up  a  little  for  'his 
visit  to  his  lady  love,  entered  the  house. 

"  O  ho !"  he  said,  as  he  walked  into  the  passage  where 
the  guard  were  stationed ;  "  you  've  got  those  abolition 
devils  in  charge,  have  vou,  against  to-morrow  ?" 


FLIGHT     TO     THE     F  K  E  E-S  O  I  L  E  R  8  .  361 

"  Yes,  hang  it,  if  it  ain't  tough,  too,  after  the  march 
we  've  had  to-day,  to  watch  all  night.  Hovvsomever,  they 
won't  trouble  any  body  a  great  while.  They  've  got  to 
swing  to-morrow,  sure.  I  say  Bob,  can't  you  get  the  la- 
dies to  hand  over  a  little  whisky.  It 's  plaguy  dry  work." 

"  Bring  your  own  whisky,  blast  it,"  returned  Bob. 
"  How  do  you  reckon  the  ladies  have  got  any  ?" 

With  trembling  eagerness  Nanny  unbarred  the  door  of 
their  room,  and  let  in  the  young  man,  who  was  quickly 
informed  who  one  of  the  prisoners  was,  and  the  part  he 
was  expected  to  take  in  their  deliverance. 

Bob  Turner  shook  his  head  gravely  at  Fanny's  plan, 
bringing  up  objection  after  objection,  all  of  which  she 
foresaw  and  answered.  Still  he  hesitated. 

"  O,  for  the  sake  of  humanity,  of  justice,  you  will  do 
this  !"  said  Fanny,  with  clasped  hands. 

"  For  my  sake,"  whispered  Nanny. 

The  young  man  looked  from  one  to  the  other  of  the 
pleading  faces  raised  to  his,  and  could  resist  no  longer. 

"  It's  as  much  as  my  neck  is  worth  to  do  the  thing,"  he 
said  at  last ;  "  but,  hang  it,  you  are  so  set  on  it,  I  '11  try." 

"  Heaven  bless  you !"  said  Fanny,  fervently ;  while 
Nanny  manifested  her  gratitude  in  a  way  that  pleased 
him  much  better,  for  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
and  kissed  him  heartily  on  the  spot. 

Then  in  a  whispered  conversation  they  arranged  all  the 
particulars  of  their  plan,  Bob  Turner  expressing  it  as  his 
opinion  that  the  first  and  most  important  step  to  be  taken, 
was  to  provide  plenty  of  whisky  for  the  guard,  and  in  this 
manner  put  them  off  their  guard  as  soon  as  possible.  Ha 
was  dispatched  upon  this  errand,  and  by  the  time  he  re- 
turned night  had  fallen  upon  the  camp. 

Meanwhile  Nanny  had  persuaded  her  mother  to  retire 
to  rest,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  lady  snugly 

16 


302  WESTERN    BORDER     LIFE. 

ensconced  in  the  little  nook,  partitioned  by  an  old  blanket 
from  the  main  room,  where  a  couple  of  rude  couches  had 
been  spread  upon  the  floor  for  their  accommodation. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Bob,  "  while  I  go  and  hunt  up  a 
couple  of  fast  horses,  you,  girls,  had  better  set  yonder 
chaps  at  work.  They  '11  have  as  much  as  they  '11  want  to 
do,  to  work  their  way  out  before  midnight,  and  if  those 
fellows  in  the  passage  hear  Uncle  Tim's  saw  going,  it 's  all 
up  with  'em,  that 's  all  I  've  got  to  say." 

Stealing  out  at  the  back  door,  Bob  started  on  his  peril- 
ous expedition,  and  the  young  ladies,  after  wrapping 
themselves  in  their  cloaks,  Fanny  hiding  the  saw  be" 
neath  hers,  silently  followed  him.  The  lights  of  the 
camp  were  shining  dimly  through  the  rain  and  mist,  and 
as  they  crept  softly  along  under  the  eaves  of  the  house, 
they  could  hear  the  voices  of  men  in  boisterous  merriment, 
in  a  tent  close  by. 

"  Keep  close  to  me,  Nanny.  Poor  girl,  don't  tremble 
so  !  We  have  nothing  to  fear,"  whispered  Fanny.  "  See, 
this  must  be  the  place." 

With  a  sharp  stick  she  had  brought,  she  worked  away 
the  mud  plastering  between  the  logs,  making  an  opening 
through  which  she  could  easily  thrust  two  or  three  fingers. 

"  They  are  here,  Nanny.  I  see  them,"  she  said  softly, 
rising  from  the  stooping  posture  she  had  assumed,  "  Harry 
Chester  and  Judge  Stanton." 

The  prisoners  were  conversing  together  in  a  low  tone, 
and  as  Fanny  paused  a  moment  before  addressing  them, 
she  caught  a  sentence  or  two  of  what  they  were  saying. 

"  Will  they  dare  to  do  it  ?  Is  there  no  chance  of 
uscape?" 

"  I  am  afraid  not,  Harry.  They  dare  to  do  any  thing, 
a  gang  of  drunken  ruffians  are  certainly  not  to  be  trusted." 

"Oh!  but  to  die  in  this  way!     To  have  my  days  cut 


FLIGHT    TO     THE     F  14  E  E-S  O  I  L  E  R  S  .  363 

Miort  by  this  drunken  crew  !  How  can  I  bear  it  ?  And 
to  think  that  by  my  imprudence  and  hot-headedness,  I 
have  shortened  your  days,  too.  God  forgive  me,  I  cau 
not  feel  resigned  !" 

"  Courage,  Harry  !     Our  trust  must  be  in  God." 

"  Judge  Stanton  !  Harry  Chester  !" 

"  Hark !  Judge.     Did  n't  some  one  call  our  names  ?" 

"  I  heard  nothing,  Harry.  It  must  have  been  your 
imagination." 

"  Perhaps.  My  fancy  plays  me  strange  tricks  to-day. 
Were  it  not  for  the  utter  absurdity  of  the  thing,  I  could 
swear  that  not  two  hours  ago  I  saw  at  one  of  the  windows 
of  this  very  house,  the  face  of  a  young  girl  whom  I  shall 
never  see  again,  unless,  indeed,  we  meet  in  heaven." 

"  Harry  !  Harry  Chester  !" 

"  Who  speaks  ?"  said  the  young  man,  turning  eagerly 
in  the  direction  from  whence  the  sound  came. 

"  A  friend  !  One  who  will  help  you  to  escape  !  Come 
closer.  This  way,  both  of  you.  Can  you  hear  what  I  say  ?" 

u  Perfectly,"  said  the  young  man.  A  thrill  shot  through 
his  frame,  and  he  felt  sure  that  he  had  heard  that  very 
voice  before  from  a  little  fairy  perched  up  on  an  old 
bridge  long  ago.  "  Am  I  dreaming,  or  is  it  Fanny 
Hunter's  voice  that  I  hear  ?" 

"  Hush  \  speak  lower!  Your  enemies  are  all  about  us. 
I  am  her? — Nanny  Catlett  and  I — don't  ask  how.  I  have 
no  time  t  3  tell  you.  Be  content  to  know  that  we  are  here 
to  save  you  !  Can  you  trust  us  ?" 

"With  my  whole  heart." 

"Listen,  then.  With  this  saw  which  I  have  brought 
you,  and  your  pocket-knives,  you  must  work  your  way 
\hrough  the  logs.  There  will  be  horses  waiting  for  you 
outside  the  camp,  and  young  Turner  will  bo  here  at  mid 
night  to  guide  you  to  the  place." 


364  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

"You  are  a  dear,  brave  girl,  Fanny!"  said  the  Judge, 
"  but  I  am  afraid  you  are  periling  yourself  for  nothing. 
Do  you  know  there  is  but  a  thin  partition  between  us  and 
our  guard,  and  that  even  now  we  can  hear  the?*'  voices  in 
drunken  dispute.  We  thank  you,  Fanny,  with  our  whole 
hearts,  but  the  thing  is  impossible !" 

"  No  !  no  !"  the  sweot  voice  trembled  with  earnestness, 
"  it  is  not  impossible  !  there  are  great  risks,  but  I  feel  that 
they  will  be  overcome.  The  men  are  very  drunk,  and 
they  will  be  still  more  so  by  midnight.  It  is  your  only 
chance.  Be  prudent,  and  strong,  and  God  will  take  care 
of  the  rest.  O !  promise  me  that  you  will  make  the  at- 
tempt." 

"  She  is  heaven's  own  messenger,  Judge.  How  can  you 
hesitate  a  moment  ?" 

"Come  away!  come  away!"  whispered  Nanny.  UI 
hoar  voices  close  by." 

"  I  must  go.  Will  you  make  the  attempt,  or  be  led  out 
to  a  shameful  death  to-morrow  ?" 

"  O,  come !  Miss  Fanny,  we  shall  be  discovered." 

"  Go,  go !"  said  the  Judge.  "  God  helping  us  we  will 
make  the  attempt." 

Returning  in  safety  to  their  room,  the  girls  spent  the 
remaining  hours  to  midnight  in  watching  with  the  most 
intense  anxiety  the  progress  of  their  plot.  For  a  time 
they  heard  nothing  but  the  patter  of  the  rain  against  the 
windows,  and  the  voices  of  the  revelers  in  the  passage ; 
and  rejoiced  together  as  their  drunken  mirth  grew  more 
and  more  boisterous.  At  length  Fanny's  quick  ear  caught 
another  noise,  and,  drawing  her  companion's  attention  to 
it,  they  listened  with  pale  faces  and  shortened  breaths  to 
the  distant,  muffled  sound  of  a  saw. 

"  O,  if  they  should  hear  it,"  said  Nanny.  "  Can't  we 
run  round  and  tell  them  to  be  more  quiet  ?" 


FLIGHT    TO    THE    FREE    S  OILERS.  365 

"  No,  Nanny,  depend  upon  it  they  will  work  as  cau- 
tiously as  they  can.  We  have  done  our  best ;  now  let  us 
trust  them  in  God's  hands." 

The  noise  of  the  men  was  just  now  very  loud,  and  they 
seemed  to  be  in  some  dispute  over  the  game  of  cards  they 
were  playing ;  but  above  it  all,  those  long  regular  strokes 
continued;  Fanny  closed  her  eyes,  and  Nanny  knew  by 
the  motion  of  her  lips  that  she  was  in  prayer.  Slowly 
dragged  the  hours  away,  and  with  trembling  voices  the 
girls  whispered  each  other,  that  every  moment  now,  and 
every  stroke  of  the  saw,  was  bringing  the  prisoners  nearer 
to  liberty.  Once,  indeed,  they  thought  that  all  was  lost ; 
for  suddenly  one  of  the  men  exclaimed  with  an  oath,  that 
he  heard  the  sound  of  joiners'  tools  somewhere  in  the 
house.  Hang  him !  but  he  'd  know  what  it  meant. 

"  Blast  you,  Tim  Jenkins,  go  on  with  your  play,"  said 
another  voice,  "  you  are  always  fancying  something.  It 's 
only  one  of  your  plaguy  tricks  to  throw  up  the  game,  when 
you  are  likely  to  lose  your  money." 

"  I  don't  hear  any  thing,"  said  another  voice.  "  Those 
poor  devils  in  there  have  n't  opened  their  heads  for  the 
last  hour.  Let 's  take  a  look  in  and  see  what  they  are 
up  to." 

"  No,  no,  Dick,  let  'em  alone.  They  are  safe  enough. 
Come,  take  another  swig,  and  go  on  with  your  game." 

The  sound  to  which  Tim  Jenkins  alluded,  had  ceased 
the  moment  he  commenced  speaking,  and  was  not  heard 
again  for  some  moments ;  but  it  did  recommence  at  last, 
and  though  at  times  it  seemed  to  the  half  distracted  girls 
that  it  must  be  heard,  so  loud  and  distinct  was  it  to  their 
overstrained  ears,  no  further  notice  was  taken  by  the  rev- 
elers, and  near  midnight  it  ceased  entirely. 

Bob  was  behind  the  time,  and  the  poor  watchers  had 
every  opportunity  to  indulge  in  doleful  anticipations  of 


366  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

evil,  before  he  made  his  appearance.  But  come  he  did  at 
last ;  and  stopping  at  the  door  to  whisper  the  ladies  that 
all  was  right,  and  the  horses  a  quarter  of  a  mile  distant, 
waiting  for  them,  he  hastened  to  the  prisoners.  They 
heard  nothing  more,  but  when  suspense  becoming  intoler- 
able, they  ventured  out  again  to  the  place  where  Fanny  had 
held  her  whispered  conference  with  the  prisoners,  all  was 
dark  and  still,  and  they  thrust  their  arms  into  the  space 
between  the  logs  by  which  the  captives  had  made  their 
escape. 

Wearied  with  watching,  Nanny  sought  her  bed,  and 
Fanny  was  pacing  the  room  back  and  forth  in  her  anxiety, 
when  a  ponderous  knock  was  heard  at  the  door.  Antici- 
pating some  evil,  though  she  knew  not  why,  with  trem- 
bling hands  she  undid  the  fastenings,  and  in  stalked  Madam 
Gamby. 

"Ah,  here  you  are,  you  pale-faced  abolition  teacher! 
Where 's  the  prisoners  ?  There  's  a  hole  sawed  through 
their  room,  and  they  are  gone.  And  the  saw  's  marked 
Catlett.  Do  you  know  any  thing  about  it,  hey  ?  Now 
if  you  don't  catch  it  here,  I  *m  mistaken.  You  can't  cheat 
me.  I  've  seen  you  with  that  abolition  rascal  on  the  prai- 
rie before  now.  Why  did  n't  you  run  off  with  him  ?  You 
need  n't  try  to  look  so  innocent.  You  know  you  helped 
'em  off,  and  you  '11  be  hung  in  their  stead,  too.  I  've  com- 
plained of  you  to  the  governor,  and  they  '11  be  here  directly 
to  arrest  you." 

"  O,  Madam  Gamby !  Would  you  have  seen  those  in- 
nocent men  murdered.  Can  a  woman  be  so  cruel  ?" 

"  Cruel !  you  fool,  do  you  suppose  such  rascals  were 
made  to  live?  I'll  show  you  what  I'm  made  of.  Ah, 
here  they  come  !  I  told  you  they  'd  be  after  you." 

There  was  a  shuffling  of  feet  and  a  sound  of  angry  voices 
outside  the  door. 


FLIGHT    TO    THE    F  R  E  E-S  O  I  L  E  R  S.  36T 

"  O,  Madam  Gamby,  save  me !  save  me !"  cried  Fanny. 
*  Will  you  give  me  up  to  these  ruffians  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will.     There 's  nothing  too  bad  for  you,  you — " 

Fanny  stopped  to  hear  nc  more.  Almost  deprived  of 
her  senses  by  the  woman's  threats,  and  frantic  at  the 
thought  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  a  set  of  drunken  ruf- 
fians, she  sprang  past  her  persecutor  like  a  frightened 
fawn,  and  the  next  moment  was  rushing  through  the  dark- 
ness and  the  storm. 

On,  on,  she  knew  not  whither.  Past  the  glimmering 
.  camp -lights  that  seemed  to  glare  at  her  with  angry  eyes, 
through  mist  and  blinding  rain,  over  thorns  and  briars, 
on,  still  on.  The  rain  beat  down  upon  her  uncovered 
head,  but  she  knew  it  not.  The  thorns  and  briars  cruelly 
wounded  her  slender  feet,  but  she  felt  no  pain.  A  hun- 
dred voices  seemed  calling  her  to  stop,  a  hundred  feet 
hurrying  in  pursuit;  and,  with  frantic  haste,  unheeding 
darkness,  wind  and  rain,  the  poor  fugitive  fled  on.  On 
and  still  on,  till  the  glimmering  camp-lights  were  but  a 
speck  in  the  distance,  and  she  felt  that  she  was  alone  in 
the  solitude  of  the  night.  Then  faint  and  exhausted,  she 
pressed  her  hands  to  her  poor  fluttering  heart,  and  sank 
upon  the  damp  ground.  She  thought  that  her  hour  had 
come,  and  that  alone  and  friendless  she  must  perish  hen* 
in  the  wilderness.  Raising  herself  upon  her  knees,  she 
prayed  with  clasped  hands  that  God  would  take  care  of 
her,  and  of  those  whom  she  had  tried  to  succor,  and  then 
kneeling  upon  the  plains  of  Kanzas,  she  entreated  the  God 
of  freedom  to  save  that  noble  Territory  from  the  tyranny 
of  these  minions  of  slavery.  At  length  her  voice  faltered 
and  ceased,  a  deadly  faintness  came  over  her,  and  she  fell 
exhausted  upon  the  damp  earth,  while  the  rain  beat  dowo 
upon  her  defenseless  form. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

TROUBLE     IN     THE     CAMP. 

GREAT  was  the  confusion  and  excitement  in  and  about 
the  house,  when  Catlett  and  Dave  returned  the  next 
morning  from  their  night-drinking  and  gaming  in.  the 
camp.  They  had  heard  of  the  flight  of  the  prisoners,  and 
were  as  eager  as  any  for  their  recapture,  for  the  alarm  had 
been  given,  and  scouting  parties  sent  out  in  every  direc- 
tion. Only  by  displaying  the  greatest  presence  of  mind, 
had  Bob  Turner  been  able  to  escape  capture  with  his 
charge,  by  several  of  these  gangs.  Once  he  with  his 
party  were  entirely  entrapped,  and  obtained  release  by 
his  declaring  that  they  were  on  the  same  business  with 
themselves  Knowing  Bob's  voice,  and  supposing  it  all 
correct  in  the  darkness,  the  party  rode  off  in  an  opposite 
direction. 

Bob  took  his  prisoners,  as  he  had  promised,  safe  to  the 
sentinels  on  guard  about  Lawrence,  who  admitted  them, 
after  suitable  inquiry,  within  their  ward.  Immediately 
he  wheeled  about  and  returned  without  suspicion  into  the 
camp,  making  his  appearance  at  the  house  about  the  same 
time  with  Dave  and  Catlett.  Great  was  his  indignation, 
when  with  them  he  learned  how  Fanny,  the  friend  and 
confidant  of  his  betrothed,  being  frightened  by  Garnby, 
had  darted  out  into  the  darkness,  and  no  trace  of  her 
could  be  found.  As  for  Mr.  Catlett,  fire  and  fury  pre- 
vailed in  his  words,  when  he  heard  these  things,  and  Dave 


TROUBLE    IN     1HE    CAMP.  369 

swore  .he  would  find  Fanny  if  he  went  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth.  Tom  Walton,  too,  came  in,  with  a  pale,  anxious 
face,  and  his  collar  quite  awry;  a  sure  sign  that  boraething 
had  occurred  to  discompose  him.  But  Tim's  distress  \ras 
the  most  affecting  to  behold.  The  poor  fellow  seemed  to 
consider  himself  somehow  to  blame  in  the  catastrophe,  in 
that  he  had  provided  Fanny  with  the  instrument  by  which 
the  prisoners  obtained  their  escape.  "  Lors !  Miss  Car'- 
line,  if  I  had  n't  a  gin  her  dat  ar  saw,  she  would  n't  a  let 
de  men  out,  and  den  dat  ar  Gamby  woman  would  n't  a 
come  cussin'  and  swarin',  to  scare  poor  Miss  Fanny  out 
ob  her  seven  senses.  O  lors!  what  did  I  do  it  for,  any- 
how ?"  Tim  blubbered  about  it  all  day,  and  Jinny  and 
Adeline  went  round  with  their  aprons  to  their  eyes. 

Upon  Madam  Gamby 's  head,  Mr.  Catlett  heaped  bush- 
els of  wrath.  If  she  was  n't  a  woman  he  'd  shoot  her, 
sure,  and  if  she  would  come  to  the  wars,  why  should  her 
being  a  woman  defend  her  in  such  iniquity  ?  Bob  Turner 
was  loud  in  his  denunciations,  but  as  yet.  kept  his  own 
secret. 

Things  were  at  this  pass,  when  a  gang  of  rowdies,  with 
Gamby  at  their  head,  came  to  arrest  Fanny,  supposing  her 
long  ago  returned  from  her  flight.  With  oaths,  and 
curses,  they  declared  that  she  should  be  hung  in  place  of 
the  prisoners  she  had  helped  to  escape.  This  was  a  little 
too  much.  No  words  can  depict  Jack  Catlett's  rage  at 
this  insult  to  his  house.  He  raved  with  absolute  madness, 
and  swore  if  the  lot  did  n't  leave,  he  'd  shoot  'em  like 
dogs. 

"So  you  uphold  the  gal  in  her  treason  ana  treachery 
to  the  camp  ?"  said  Madam  Gamby,  with  a  sneer.  "  Look 
out,  neighbor  Catlett,  or  you'll  get  to  be  a  suspicious 
character  yourself." 

"  I  uphold  the  girl !  Of  course  I  do.  They  should 

16* 


870  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

have  shot  me  down  before  I  would  have  seen  two  as  true 
and  noble-hearted  men  as  ever  lived,  led  to  the  gallows. 
I  say  she  was  a  brave  girl,  with  double  the  courage  of 
some  that  talk  big,  and  try  to  wear  the  breeches.  1 
honor  her  for  what  she  did." 

The  men,  when  they  understood  that  they  were  sent 
out  to  arrest  a  young  lady,  who  had  been  taken  under 
their  guard,  vowed  that  they  had  been  cheated  by  the 
rascally  Gamby,  and  that  they  would  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  One  of  them  said  he  knew  the  lady,  and  she  was 
good  and  kind,  and  would  have  taught  his  child  if  she 
could,  and  he  pitied  her,  driven  out  by  that  she-devil  into 
the  dark  and  cold,  and  hang  him  if  he  would  n't  be  one 
to  search  for  her,  and  bring  her  home  dead  or  alive. 

It  was  Tim  Jenkins,  the  drummer.  Gamby,  left  alone, 
blustered  as  loudly  as  any,  and  declared  that  it  was  the 
planters  who  introduced  abolition  gals  on  their  places, 
who  caused  all  the  trouble.  Finally  she  deemed  it  best  to 
retreat  before  the  squire's  gun. 

A  search  was  immediately  instituted  for  the  lost  girl. 
No  sooner  was  all  known,  than  hundreds  volunteered  to 
look  for  her  in  all  directions.  It  was  suggested  in  the 
camp  that  they  'd  better  hang  Gamby  in  place  of  the 
escaped  prisoners,  and  to  insure  good  luck  in  their  search, 
it  being  suggested  that  she  was  a  kind  of  Jonah,  anyhow  ; 
to  which  some  one  replied  that  the  whale  that  swallowed 
her,  would  have  the  worst  of  it  decidedly. 

Mrs.  Catlett  and  Nanny  remained  with  the  servants  in 
great  anxiety  at  home.  One  by  one  the  parties  returned 
from  their  fruitless  search,  with  no  news  of  the  fugitive. 
One  party  alone  who  had  ventured  very  near  to  Lawrence, 
brought  with  them  a  little  torn  gaiter,  all  drenched  with 
rain  and  mud,  which  one  of  the  men  had  found  near  the 
road-side,  and  which  Nanny  declared,  with  a  flood  of  tears, 


TROUBLE    IN    THE    CAMP.  371 

to  be  one  that  Fanny  had  worn  the  day  previous.  It  was 
reported  that  she  was  murdered,  or  had  perished  some- 
where in  the  wild,  or  had  lost  her  way,  and  was  still  wan- 
dering further  and  further  into  the  wilderness.  Catlett 
and  Dave  with  a  few  determined  spirits  spent  the  whole 
day  in  scouring  the  country  in  all  directions.  At  last, 
with  great  gloom,  they  concluded  her  forever  1  >st,  and 
returned  down-hearted  to  the  camp. 

In  the  mean  time  the  negotiations  which  begun  between 
the  leaders,  almost  on  the  arrival  of  the  besiegers,  were 
nearing  their  completion.  They  had  been  talked  of  in  the 
camp,  and  discussed  over  whisky  bottles  and  g&aiing- 
tables.  But  as  all  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  our  laatory, 
we  entirely  pass  it  by.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  twelfth  of  December,  Governor  Shannon  dis- 
banded the  troops,  and  they  began  to  move  away  in  strag- 
gling bands  from  the  city.  Catlett  and  his  family  went 
into  Lawrence  to  tarry  awhile  in  the  hope  that  something 
might  be  heard  from  the  lost  Fanny.  There  was  a  possi- 
bility even  that  she  might  have  strayed  into  the  city.  At 
all  events  every  thing  which  could  be  done,  should  be 
done.  The  chivalric  honor  of  a  native  Virginian,  was 
aroused  in  Mr.  Catlett's  breast,  and  he  resolved  to  spare 
neither  time  nor  expense  in  the  search.  Determined 
as  he  felt,  however,  to  leave  no  stone  unturned,  that 
iright  give  any  clew  to  the  fugitive's  whereabouts,  he 
soon  came  across  a  helper,  more  earnest  than  himself. 
A  Imost  the  first  persons  he  met  in  Lawrence,  were  his 
cousin,  Judge  Stanton,  and  Harry  Chester,  to  whom  he 
related  the  sad  intelligence,  before  even  congratulating 
them  upon  their  own  escape.  Could  it  be  possible  that 
she  was  in  Lawrence?  They  had  seen  nothing  of  her 
m  ice  their  flight. 

The  judge  was  loud  in  his  exclamations  of  alarm  and 


372  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

distress,  and  though  the  young  man  said  less,  he  devoted 
his  whole  time  to  prosecuting  the  search,  and  mentally 
determined  that  he  would  never  relinquish  it,  till  she  was 
found. 

"  We  will  advertise,  and  search  the  city  thoroughly,"  he 
said. 

"  If  money  would  be  of  any  use,  it  is  at  your  disposal," 
gaid  Tom  Walton. 

"  Every  thing  must  be  done  to  rescue  so  dear  a  girl,  if 
she  be  yet  alive !"  said  the  judge. 

"  I  have  mighty  little  hope  that  she  is,"  said  Mr  Cat- 
lett,  with  a  sigh. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

OLD     AND     NEW     FRIENDS. 

OUR  story  returns  to  Fanny,  whom  we  left  alone  on  the 
plains  of  Kanzas.  Exhausted  by  fatigue,  and  the  violence 
of  the  storm,  faint  and  despairing,  she  sank  upon  the 
earth.  But  deliverance,  even  in  her  seemingly  hopeless 
situation,  was  nigh.  A  quick  step  approached,  a  kind 
hand  touched  her,  and  a  voice  with  which  we  are  not  un- 
familiar, spoke  to  her. 

"  Miss  Fanny !  Miss  Fanny  !  is  dis  you,  sure  enough  ?" 

There  was  no  reply. 

"  O,  lors !  she 's  dead  I  does  believe !  Poor  lamb ! 
What 's  sent  her  out  in  de  cold  and  wet,  dis  yer  night  ? 
Miss  Fanny  !  I  say  !  Lors,  it 's  her,  though,  sure.  Don't 
I  know  dat  voice  dat  spoke  so  kind  to  Tilla.  De  Lord 
has  sent  me  here  just  in  time  to  hear  her  a  pray  in'  all 
alone  in  de  dark  night ;  and  I  '11  save  her,  too.  Miss 
Fanny,  can't  you  put  your  arms  round  my  neck,  and  let 
me  toat  you  a  bit.  I  'm  feared  she 's  past  spealdn'. 
Well,  I  '11  take  her  to  dem  dat  will  put  life  inter  her  if 
any  body  can." 

Martha,  for  it  was  her,  who  returning  from  Lawrence 
to  the  camp,  had  thus  been  guided  by  Providence  to  the 
place  where  Fanny  lay,  raised  the  unconscious  girl  in  her 
strong  arms,  and  bore  her  safe  to  the  city.  There  friendly 
hands  were  soon  around  her,  and  a  motherly  voice 
breathed  words  of  love^  and  pity  in  her  ears. 


374  WESTERN    BOEDER    LIFE. 

It  was  long  ere  she  opened  her  eyes  or  gave  signs  of  re- 
turning life,  and  when  at  last  she  did  so,  reason  had  fled; 
and  she  only  uttered  incoherent  expressions  of  alarm  and 
distress,  begging  those  about  her  "  to  save  her !  to  let  her 
go,  or  the  prisoners  would  be  murdered !"  Her  expo- 
sure had  thrown  her  into  a  dangerous  illness,  and  her 
new  friends  nursed  her  with  the  tenderest  care,  while 
Martha  hovered  about  her,  and  with  clumsy  eagerness,  as- 
sisted all  that  she  was  able. 

The  family,  into  \vhose  bosom  she  was  thus  taken,  was 
from,  old  Connecticut,  and  being  strongly  anti-slavery  in 
their  feelings,  had  removed  to  Kanzas  to  do  their  part  to- 
ward building  up  a  free  State.  They  had  found  Martha 
somewhere  in  the  streets  of  Lawrence,  and  pitying  her 
forlorn  condition,  had  taken  her  under  their  protection, 
and  were  just  now  planning  her  escape  to  Canada.  To 
them,  of  course,  the  girl  at  once  bore  the  friendless  Fanny, 
nor  could  she  have  chosen  a  better  place.  From  Martha's 
story  of  her  being  a  teacher  from  Connecticut,  and  named 
Fanny  Hunter,  the  "glide  wife"  at  once  conjectured  that 

she  might  be  the  daughter  of  the  late  Pastor  of  N , 

and  this  thought  redoubled  their  diligence. 

A  week  passed  before  her  fever  abated,  nor  was  her 
strange  discovery  by  the  road-side  at  all  explained,  except 
by  the  wandering  sentences  she  uttered  in  her  delirium. 
Meanwhile  the  camp  had  broken  up,  and  Martha  had  lost 
all  trace  of  Mr.  Catlett  and  his  family.  They,  however, 
as  we  have  already  seen,  with  Judge  Stanton  and  Harry 
Chaster,  were  in  Lawrence,  and  immediately  upon  the  dis- 
persion of  the  army,  commenced  their  search  for  the  lost 
girl.  This,  in  a  small  place  like  Lawrence,  coula  not  of 
course  continue  long,  without  leading  to  her  discovery, 
but  it  was  ordered  that  Fanny  should  not  be  restored  to 
her  friends  in  any  such  common-place  way. 


OLD    AHD    NEW    FRIENDS.  37£ 

About  dusk,  the  very  day  they  commenced  their  efforts, 
Martha  ventured  out,  and  was  strolling  through  one  of 
the  most  unfrequented  parts  of  the  city,  when  in  turning 
a  corner,  she  came  plump  upon  no  less  a  personage  than 
Harry  Chester. 

"  Good  lors !  it 's  Mass'  Harry !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a 
tone  of  joyful  surprise. 

The  young  man  looked  at  her  a  moment,  forlorn  and 
ragged  as  she  was,  without  recognizing  her. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Mass'  Henry  ?  I 's  Marthy ! 
Mass'  Catlett's  Marthy  !  You  ain't  agoin'  to  give  me  up 
to  him,  I  know;  but  if  you  does,  I  must  speak  to  you  for 
de  sake  of  de  dear  missus,  dat  's  sick  and  all  alone  here ! 
0 !  Mass'  Harry !  you  used  to  know  her  on  de  prairie, 
and  like  her,  too,  I  reckon ;  dar  's  a  chance  now  to  be  a 
friend  to  her.  Dar  is  so." 

"  Who  is  it,  Martha  ?  Speak  quick,  girl !  Who  do 
you  mean  ?" 

"  Lors,  Massa  Harry,  who  should  it  be  but  Miss  Fanny ! 
I  'm  thinkin'  you  don't  reckon  on  her  as  much  as  you  did, 
or  you  would  n't  forget  her  name  so  quick." 

"  Forget  her  !  Where  is  she  ?  Can  you  show  me  the 
way  ?  Is  she  well  ?  Forget  her,  indeed  !" 

"  Dar  now,  you  begins  to  talk.  Yes,  yes.  I  '11  take  yer 
to  her,  and  mighty  glad  she  '11  be  to  see  you,  I  reckon. 
She  dat 's  been  callin'  for  yer  when  she  was  ravm' 
'stracted." 

"  Calling  for  me  f     O,  Martha,  has  she  been  so  ill  ?" 

The  pleasure  he  felt  at  the  first  announcement,  was  al- 
most counterbalanced  by  his  pain  at  the  last. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  you'd  think  so,  Mass'  Harry.  O  lors, 
to  think  what  would  hab  happened  if  I  had  n't -found  her 
dat  ar  night,  wid  de  rain  beatin'  on  to  her  poor  head 
Here  'tis,  Mass  Harry.  Dis  yer's  de  place.  Now  you 


376  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

jest  stand  here  a  crack,  while  I  go  tell  Miss  Fanny  who  'a 
come." 

Fanny  was  sitting  bolstered  up  in  her  arm-chair.  Her 
face  was  paler  than  when  we  saw  her  last,  and  the  little 
hand  that  supported  her  head  was  very  thin  and  white. 
She  raised  her  eyes,  which  were  bent  in  anxious  thought 
upon  the  fire,  when  Martha  entered,  and  inquired  where 
she  had  been.  Martha  had  grown  wonderfully  prudent 
since  her  attendance  upon  the  invalid,  and  determined  to 
be  cautious  and  not  break  the  good  news  too  sudden  like. 
She  gave  some  trivial  answer,  and  was  thinking  how  to 
commence,  when  the  door  opened,  and  a  tall  figure  stood 
in  the  entrance. 

Martha  had  just  time  to  cry,  "  O,  Mass'  Harry,  Mass' 
Harry !  go  back !  you  spile  it  all,"  when  Fanny  sprang 
from  her  seat  with  a  faint  scream,  and  the  next  instant  the 
young  man  was  at  her  side. 

"  Fanny  !  Fanny !  have  I  found  you  at  last  ?" 

What  reply  Fanny  made  is  not  known.  Indeed,  Martha 
declared  that  of  the  whole  of  the  long  conversation  that  en- 
sued, she  "  could  n't  hear  de  fust  word."  Harry  Chester 
did  the  most  of  the  talking,  and  at  the  conclusion  of  one 
of  his  long  harangues,  he  seized  the  little  thin  hand,  and 
dared — notwithstanding  the  direful  consequences  that 
once  before  followed  this  presumptuous  act — -to  press  it 
to  his  lips.  This  time  it  was  not  withdrawn — perhaps 
Fanny,  is  her  present  feebleness,  lacked  strength  to  do  it. 
and  when  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his  face,  those  eyes  th«*« 
on  that  other  occasion  flashed  upon  him  with  angry  pride, 
they  were  suffused  with  tears. 

"  Mass  Harry  tire  Miss  Fanny  all  out,"  Martha  said 
at  last,  approaching,  and  Fanny  herself  bade  him  leave 
her,  yet  followed  him  with  her  eyes  to  the  door,  and 
when  he  returned  again  and  again,  to  say  a  parting  woru, 


OLD     AND     NEW     FKIKNDS.  377 

somehow  did  not  grow  angry  at  his  repeated  disobedi- 
ence. 

The  young  man  did  not  sleep  that  night,  until  he  had 
informed  all  her  friends  that  the  lost  girl  was  found,  and 
the  next  morning  bright  and  early,  Mr.  Catlett  and  his 
wife,  Nanny  and  Bob,  with  the  judge  and  Harry  at  their 
head,  came  in  a  body  to  welcome  her  back  to  life  again. 

"  You  are  a  noble  girl,  Fanny,  and  I  'm  right  glad  your 
Yankee  purpose  saved  the  judge  and  Harry,"  said  Mr. 
Catlett.  "If  they  fd  hung  them,  I  would  never  have  lived 
in  Missouri  or  Kanzas  a  day." 

"Somebody  else  helped,"  said  Nanny  with  a  blush, 
throwing  in  a  good  word  for  Bob,  who  stood  rather  in 
the  background. 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Fanny,  "  we  could  have  done  noth- 
ing without  him.  You  should  thank  him  quite  as  much 
as  Nanny  or  I." 

"  Well,  young  man,"  said  Catlett,  "  mebbe  now >s  as 
good  a  time  as  any  to  tell  you,  that  wife  and  I  have  n't 
quite  known  your  worth.  We  have  thought  Nan  might 
do  better,  but  I  reckon  now  you  've  shown  so  much  pluck, 
you  can  have  her  for  the  asking." 

"  Then  I  '11  take  her,"  said  Bob,  seizing  Nanny's 
hand. 

Dave  and  Tom  Walton  here  made  their  appearance. 
"Miss  Fanny,"  whispered  Tom,  as  he  shook  her  hand, 
"  I  'm  mighty  glad  you  've  come  to  life,  though  you  did 
*nake  a  fool  of  me." 

The  company  waited  a  week  longer  for  Fanny  to'  regain 
her  strength,  and  then  the  whole  party  set  out  for  La 
Belle  Prairie.  They  made  the  journey  in  safety,  and  Mrs. 
Catlett  at  once  ordered  Viny  to  bring  her  pipe  and  a  shovel 
of  coals,  while  she  took  time  to  recover  herself.  The  young 
housekeeper  welcomed  them  joyfully,  and  declared  that 


378  WESTERN    BOR  DER     LIFE. 

she  thought  they  never  were  coming  back,  but  intended 
to  stay  at  Dave's  place  forever. 

"  Dave's  place  no  longer,"  said  Mr.  Catlett.  "  He  must 
settle  down  in  Missouri  for  all  that  I  see ;  for  as  to  inter- 
fering with  that  woman's  land  agin,  or  letting  any  body 
else  that  I  can  hinder,  I  sha'n't  do  it.  She  's  earned  it. 
and  she  shall  keep  it." 

'Ria  also  declared  that  Madam  Hester  had  been  baying 
dreadful  things  all  the  time  they  were  gone,  and  that  one 
night  particularly,  about  two  weeks  ago,  all  of  a  sudden 
she  gave  an  awful  scream,  and  jumped  clear  out  of  her 
chair,  and  then  she  jabbered  away  about  trouble  and  sor- 
low  for  two  or  three  hours.  It  was  the  very  night  that 
Fanny  wandered  out  into  the  wild. 

The  time  for  parting  came  at  length,  and  Harry  and 
Judge  Stanton  left  for  St.  Louis. 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

UNCLE   PETER   TAKES   A   LOOK    AT   LIFE   Ltf   1  HE    BORPEB 
COUNTIES. 

"  SHAKE  !  shake  !  shake !  Dear !  dear  !  what  can  the 
matter  be?  A  roaring  hot  fire  in  the  chimney,  shawls 
and  blankets  in  abundance,  and  poor  I  huddled  up  in  the 
corner,  shaking  and  shivering.  Was  the  breeze  that  just 
lifted  yonder  curtain  indeed  from  the  arctic  regions,  or 
have  the  fleas  and  musquitoes  so  thoroughly  drained  my 
system  as  to  leave  it  henceforth  incapable  of  warmth? 

"  Chatter !  chatter !  There  it  is  again  ;  that  cold  sen- 
sation that  now  and  then  comes  creeping  over  me,  making 
my  flesh  all  'goose-quills,'  as  the  children  say,  my  limbs  to 
shake  with  extraordinary  energy,  and  my  teeth  to  beat 
time  most  merrily.  O  dear !  how  dreadfully  I  feel ! 
What  does  it  mean  ?  Am  I  bewitched,  magnetized,  have 
I  got  the  St.  Vitus'  dance,  that  I  sit  here  shaking  away 
against  my  will,  or  have  I  in  some  way  merited  the  fate 
of  that  wretched  man  whose  teeth, '  through  summer's  heat 
and  winter's  cold,  did  chatter,  chatter,  chatter  still.'  Shall  I 
make  a  strmd  against  this  rude  assault  ?  Shall  I  determine, 
in  the  very  depths  of  my  soul,  to  shake  no  more  ?  Alas ! 
what  does  it  avail  ?  Even  as  I  make  the  resolve,  another 
fit  seizes  me,  and  trembling,  shivering,  shaking,  I  bow  like 
a  bulrush  before  it.  Yes,  Viny,  I  give  it  up.  Put  me  to 
bed  directly,  pile  on  the  clothes,  blankets,  coverlids,  old 
coats;  any  thing  to  infuse  warmth;  for  I  am  certainly 


380  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

perishing  with  the  cold.  And,  Viny,  tell  your  mistress  to 
Bend  for  the  doctor  immediately." 

"Lors,  Miss  Fanny,  it  ain't  nothin'  but  a  chill.  We  all 
has  'em,  you  know.  You  '11  be  hot  'nuff  by-and-by,  when 
de  fever  comes." 

"Nevertheless,  Viny,  that  makes  me  no  warmer  at 
present.  If  before  that  time  arrives,  I  become  a  solid 
lump  of  ice,  what  then  ?" 

"  De  fever  thaw  you  out  mighty  quick,  Miss  Fanny." 

This  was  Fanny's  first  experience  of  a  chill.  Others 
followed  in  quick  succession,  and  she  soon  found  to  her 
sorrow,  that  among  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,  a  "  West- 
ern shake"  is  by  no  means  the  least.  Every  other  day  for 
a  fortnight,  this  tormentor  laid  his  iron  grasp  upon  her, 
and  when  at  length  the  little  German  doctor,  who  was 
called  in,  succeeded  by  his  huge  doses  of  quinine  and  blue 
mass,  in  throwing  off  the  chills,  they  left  poor  Fanny  so 
thin  and  pale,  as  to  be  a  shadow  of  her  former  self. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  doctor,  in  reply  to  anxious  inqui- 
ries as  to  whether  they  would  return,  "  dey  come  back 
some  day,  den  you  take  some  dis,  take  some  dat,  send 
dem  off.  So  now  you  come  to  dis  countree,  you  get  what 
you  call  seasoned." 

"  Yes,  doctor,  but  suppose  I  die  in  the  seasoning,"  said 
Fanny,  dolefully. 

"  Shaw,  Miss  Fanny,  nobody  dies  with  the  chills,"  said 
Mrs.  Catlett.  "  I  reckon  I  've  had  hundreds  in  my  day." 

There  was  one  friend,  however,  who  had  taken  the 
alarm,  and  was  coming  to  the  rescue.  Uncle  Peter  had 
lived  long  enough  at  the  West,  to  know  that  a  succession 
of  chills  was  no  such  light  matter,  and  the  thought  of  his 
little  Fanny  away  off  there  on  the  prairie,  shaking  off  all 
her  bloom,  troubled  him  not  a  little.  So  arranging  his 
business  as  expeditiously  as  possible,  he  made  his  prepara- 


UNCLE    PETER     ON     THE     B  O  It  D  E  K .  881 

tions  for  starting  for  the  East  earlier  than  usual,  and  took 
La  Belle  Prairie  in  his  way. 

He  came  one  evening  just  as  the  family  were  taking 
supper,  and  with  a  scream  of  delight  Fanny  rushed  into 
the  arms  opened  so  cordially  to  receive  her.  With  tears 
of  joy  running  down  her  cheeks,  she  kissed  him  again  and 
again,  and  forgot  all  her  past  troubles  in  her  present  hap- 
piness. Uncle  Peter  was  very  grave,  taking  long,  anxious 
looks  at  his  niece,  and  observing  every  thing  about  the 
establishment  with  an  air  of  curiosity  and  surprise.  His 
ill-concealed  look  of  amazement  at  some  of  Mrs.  Catlett's 
household  arrangements,  struck  Fanny  so  ludicrously, 
that  two  or  three  times  she  could  hardly  keep  from  laugh- 
ing. His  horror  all  burst  forth  the  first  time  they  were 
alone. 

"  And  you  've  lived  here  so  long,"  he  exclaimed.  "  You 
poor  child !  no  wonder  you  got  the  shakes.  I  am  only 
surprised  that  you  are  not  quite  dead." 

"  Why,  Uncle  Peter,  it 's  pretty  comfortable  here." 

"  Pretty  comfortable !  I  should  think  so.  I  wonder 
you  had  n't  frozen  to  death.  Why,  see  here,  there  are 
chinks  in  this  wall  where  I  can  put  two  fingers  through." 

"  Yes,  but  this  is  the  parlor,  you  know.  The  other  room 
is  where  we  live.  It  is  much  tighter,  and  then  they  keep 
up  roaring  fires." 

"  Worse  and  worse.  I  want  to  know  if  you  are  alJ 
huddled  up  in  that  one  room,  babies  and  niggers  and  ali. 
O  Fanny." 

"  Hush,  Uncle  Peter,  I  'm  afraid  they  will  hear  you." 

u  I  can't  help  it.  Whoever  supposed  we  were  sending 
you  to  such  a  place  as  this.  I  thought  I  knew  something 
of  western  life,  but  this  is  coming  '  up  the  country'  with  a 
vengeance.  I  'm  sure  I  thought  they  were  well  enougk 
off  to  live  in  a  house,  and  not  in  a  barn." 


382  WESTERN    BORDER    LIIE. 

"  Well,  so  they  are,"  said  Fanny,  a  little  mischiey 
ously.  "  Only  look  at  the  silver  on  the  side-board  !  Can 
we  make  any  such  display  at  home  ?" 

"  Stuff!"  said  Uncle  Peter.  "You  might  as  well  put 
a  Brussels  carpet  on  my  store-room,  in  among  the  greasy 
barrels.  It  would  be  just  as  appropriate.  Look  at  the 
tobacco  stains  on  the  hearth,  and  the  cobwebs  in  the  cor- 
ners. I  tell  you,  Fan,  your  mother's  back  shed  is  in  bet- 
ter order  this  minute  than  this  parlor." 

"  O,  uncle  !  you  are  too  observing.  Your  old  bachelor 
eyes  spy  out  every  thing.  Mrs.  Catlett  is  so  fretted,  and 
over-worked,  and  the  servants  indolent  and  careless.  You 
don't  know  how  difficult  it  is  to  teach  them  any  thing.  I 
used  to  long  to  take  hold  and  show  them  myself,  but  of 
course  this  would  n't  do,  and  so  I  have  tried  to  get  accus- 
tomed to  their  ways.  You  have  n't  the  least  idea,  uncle, 
of  the  difficulty  of  managing  these  black  servants," 

"  No,  I  thank  my  stars  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  it. 
My  lot  has  been  cast  in  a  free  State,  and  I  mean  it  shall 
be.  Why  in  the  name  of  common  decency  don't  they 
stir  round  and  fix  up  things?"  said  Uncle  Peter,  with 
sudden  indignation.  "The  idea  of  putting  a  man  to  sleep 
in  a  room  with  half  the  glass  out  of  the  windows.  I  got 
up  twice  last  night  to  move  my  bed  out  of  the  rain,  and 
in  the  morning  there  was  a  puddle  of  water  in  the  room 
large  enough  to  sail  a  small  boat." 

*  UO  that's  nothing!"  said  Fanny,  laughing.  "You 
should  have  been  here  before  the  roof  was  mended.  You 
see  during  that  long  dry  spell  it  got  very  leaky,  and  Mr. 
Catlett  thought  he  could  n't  spare  any  of  the  hands  to 
mend  it,  and  so  one  night  there  came  up  a  terrible  thun- 
der-storm. Such  times !  It  makes  me  laugh  to  think  of 
it.  We  moved,  and  removed,  and  moved  again !  but  still 
the  floods  descended,  and  it  is  hardly  exaggerating  to 


tJXCLE     PETER     ON     THE     BORDER.  383 

say  that  before  morning  we  were  all  afloat.  However  the 
next  day  they  set  about  mending  the  roof/' 

W'I  should  think  so,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  gruffly.  "  And 
they  thought  you  were  as  tough  as  they,  and  could  pad- 
dle round  in  the  water  like  the  rest  of 'em,  without  taking 
your  death  of  cold.  I  wonder  you  ain't  dead  and  buried 
long  ago.  Well,  that 's  your  school-room,  I  suppose, 
shall  we  go  and  see  it  ?  It 's  a  trifle  larger  than  the  nig- 
gers' huts,  ain't  it  ?" 

"  O,  yes,  it 's  quite  a  room.  You  see  there 's  a 
cellar  underneath,  where  they  keep  the  potatoes  and 
other  vegetables.  There  's  no  cellar  under  the  c  big 
nouse.' " 

Uncle  Peter  stepped  round  in  his  spry  way  and  looked 
down  the  steps. 

"  Why  it 's  half-full  of  water  !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,"  said  Fanny,  peeping  over  his  shoulder.  "  It 
always  is  after  a  rain.  There,  you  see,  they  keep  the 
vegetables  in  barrels  on  a  shelf  in  the  corner,  and  poor 
little  Tom  has  to  wade  in  after  them  every  day.  I  pity 
nim  these  cold  mornings.  We  can  hear  him  overhead 
when  we  sit  in  school,  scolding  and  shivering,  till  Tibby, 
that 's  the  cook,  pushes  him  in  with  her  long  stick,  and  he 
makes  a  great  rush,  and  splashing,  and  comes  out  pres- 
ently with  the  basin  of  potatoes  on  his  head,  looking  like 
a  little  drowned  rat." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  who  was 
looking  down  the  doorway,  and  had  paid  little  attention 
to  what  she  had  been  saying ;  "  you  don't  mean  to  say 
that  you  have  been  teaching  school  here  all  summer,  over 
a  cellar  half-full  of  stagnant  water  ?" 

"  It  was  unpleasant  at  times,"  said  Fanny ;  "  and  I  felt 
afraid  that  it  might  be  unhealthful,  so  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Cat- 
lett,  and  he  had  it  cleaned  out  once  or  twice,  but  it  waa 


384  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

of  no  use,  for  it  filled  up  again  the  next  rain.  Besidea 
there  are  times  when  it  is  perfectly  dry." 

Uncle  Peter  gave  a  sort  of  groan.  "  No  wonder  they 
have  chills  and  fever,  and  every  thing  that 's  bad.  They 
could  n't  have  contrived  a  better  place  for  breeding  fevers, 
<f  they  had  tried." 

They  passed  into  the  school-room,  Uncle  Peter  stopping 
io  examine  the  door. 

"  What 's  the  matter  here  ?"  he  said,  as  he  vainly  en 
deavored  to  close  it. 

"  O,  that  door !"  said  Fanny,  "  it  has  been  out  of  order 
ever  since  I  came  here.  There  's  no  use  in  trying,  Uncle 
Peter,  you  can't  shut  it  tight." 

"  No,  I  see  not.  Has  it  been  in  this  condition  all 
winter  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  we  stuff  old  carpets  into  the  crack,  and  keep 
out  the  cold  as  well  as  we  can." 

"  As  well  as  you  can  ?  Why  did  n't  you  have  it  fixed  ? 
The  door  has  swelled  a  little.  It  only  wants  planing  off. 
Half  an  hour's  work  would  make  it  all  right." 

"  So  I  told  Mr.  Catlett,  but  he  had  n't  the  tools,  nor  any 
one  to  do  it.  Maud  and  I  tried  to  hack  it  off  with  an  old 
hatchet,  but  we  did  n't  succeed  very  well.  However  it  ia 
a  good  thing  at  times,  for  the  fireplace  smokes  so  badly 
when  the  wind  is  east,  that  we  are  obliged  to  keep  the 
window  or  door  open  to  breathe." 

u  Humph !"  said  Uncle  Peter,  "  well,  what  next  ? 
What  do  you  call  this  yellow  powder,  that  keeps  sift- 
ing down  between  the  boards  upon  a  man's  head  ?"  and 
by  jarring  the  floor  he  brought  down  a  fresh  supply. 

Fanny  laughed.  u  They  keep  the  corn-meal  up  there 
in  the  loft,  and  Tibby  scatters  it  all  about.  We  have 
quite  a  shower  occasionally,  especially  when  the  wind 
blows." 


Jli'.  LK    PETER     ON     THE     BORDER.  385 

"Agreeable:"  Slid  Uncle  Peter.  "It  must  improve 
the  hair." 

"  I  have  worn  ^  sun  bonnet  in  school  all  summer,"  said 
Fanny,  "  and  this  winter  I  quilted  me  a  little  hood  on  pur- 
pose. It  is  excellent^  and  keeps  me  from  taking  cold,  I 
have  no  doubt." 

"  I  wonder  you  are  not  in  a  settled  decline.  The  old 
red  barn  at  home  would  be  a  deal  more  comfortable  place 
to  keep  school  in  than  thitj  old  shanty,"  and  Uncle  Peter 
surveyed  the  little  room  with  its  low  window  and  rough 
benches,  with  great  disdain. 

His  contempt  of  her  domain  roused  Fanny's  pride,  and 
she  entered  warmly  upon  its  defense,  pointing  out  the 
recently  swept  floor,  th&  new  rush-bottomed  chair — a 
present  from  Uncle  Tim — the  clean  curtain  before  the 
svindow,  and  the  pretty  prospect  from  the  open  door. 

"  Indeed,  Uncle  Peter,"  she  said,  "  I  have  spont  a  great 
many  happy  hours  in  this  room,  cheerless  as  you  appear 
to  think  it.  One  gets  along  very  comfortably  with  these 
little  inconveniences,  after  one  makes  up  one's  mini  to  it. 
You  don't  know  how  much  less  I  mind  them  than  aj  \irst. 
I  am  getting  toughened,  you  see." 

"  You  look  very  much  like  it,"  said  Uncle  Peter.  "  I  Ml 
tell  you  what,  Fanny,"  he  continued,  as  they  were  cross- 
ing the  yard,  "  you  may  pack  up  your  duds  as  soon  as  you 
please,  for  I  'm  going  to  take  you  home  with  me  to  Con- 
necticut." 

"O,  Uncle  Peter!" 

"  Yes  I  am.  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  leave  my  sis- 
ter's child  on  this  place  any  longer  ?  I  don't  know  what 
possessed  us  to  ever  let  you  come  here.  Why  your  mother 
would  cry  her  eyes  out,  if  she  had  the  least  idea  of  the 
hardships  you  've  suffered  the  last  year.  Why  what  ails 
tko  girl  ?  She  looks  as  if  I  had  told  -her  some  bad  piece 

17 


3S6  WESTERN     BOEDER     LIFE. 

of  news,  instead  of  that  she  should  see  her  home  and  her 
mother  in  a  couple  of  weeks.  Come,  have  n't  you  seen 
enough  of  high  life  in  Missouri?" 

"  O,  uncle,"  said  Fanny,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  I  do 
long  for  home,  but — " 

"But  what?" 

"  It  seems  to  be  my  duty  to  stay  here.  I  am  earning  a 
large  salary — something  of  a  consideration,  certainly,  to  a 
poor  minister's  daughter — then  my  scholars  are  improving 
very  fast,  and  if  I  leave  them  now  before  another  teacher 
could  be  obtained,  they  would  lose  all  that  they  had  gained. 
It  would  be  a  great  disappointment  to  Mr.  Catlett  if  I 
should  go." 

u  It  would  be  a  great  disappointment  to  your  friends, 
Fanny,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  gravely,  "  if  by  remaining  in 
this  unhealthy  spot,  without  any  of  the  comforts  to  which 
you  have  been  accustomed,  you  should  ruin  your  consti- 
tution, and  either  fall  a  victim  to  this  Western  fever,  or 
come  home  two  or  three  years  hence,  all  broken  down  by 
the  chills,  a  confirmed  invalid  for  life.  That  would  bo 
very  poor  economy  in  the  long  run.  No,  no,  my  little 
Fanny  mustn't  come  to  such  a  doleful  end  as  that ;  we'll 
take  her  back  to  old  Connecticut,  and  see  if  we  can't  get 
a  little  pink  into  those  pale  cheeks ;  and  there  she  shall 
teach  school,  and  lay  up  money  to  her  heart's  content, 
like  a  little  miser  as  she  is." 

Still  Fanny  looked  grave. 

"  Now,  Fanny,  there  's  no  use  in  arguing  the  matter.  I 
reckoned  as  soon  as  I  heard  that  you  had  the  shakes,  that 
you  would  have  to  go  home  ;  and  when  I  came  to  see  how 
you  were  living,  I  made  up  my  mind  at  once.  I  know 
just  how  they  work.  A  few  tough  old  customers  like  me 
get  along  without  much  damage ;  but  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten  they  ruin  the  constitution,  and  take  away  every  spark 


UNCLE  PETEK  ON  THE  BOEDER.       5? 

of  life  and  energy  there  is  about  one.  Fanny,  yc  nave 
no  right  to  sacrifice  yourself,  and  I  won't  let  you  Jther. 
I  don't*  care  how  much  good  you  are  doing,  and  I  Believe 
you  are  accomplishing  something  here  ;  I  '11  say  that  foi 
vour  comfort ;  but  it 's  a  little  too  much  to  lay  down  youi 
die  for  them.  No,  no,  I  'rn  your  lawful  guardian,  and  you 
must  make  up  your  mind  to  obey  me.  You  are  not  of 
age.  I  shall  speak  to  Mr.  Carlett  this  very  morning,  and 
you  shall  have  none  of  the  trouble  and  vexation  of  that. 
So  now  make  up  your  mind  to  get  ready,  and  go  with  me 
like  a  sensible  girl.  You  are  not  leaving  a  lovei  behind, 
are  you,  that  you  look  so  sorrowful  about  it  ?" 

Fanny  made  no  reply,  and  so  it  was  decided.  She  could 
not  but  acknowledge  that  Uncle  Peter's  reasoning  was  just, 
and  that  she  would  be  throwing  away  her  heulth  by  re- 
maining. True,  the  chills  had  left  her,  buc  there  was  no 
certainty  of  their  not  returning,  and  sac  possessed  less 
physical  energy  to  oppose  the  second  attack. 

Uncle  Peter  went  directly  to  Mr.  Oatlett,  and  informed 
him  of  the  turn  affairs  had  taken,  resting  Fanny's  removal 
entirely  upon  the  ground  of  her  failing  health.  Mr.  Ot- 
lett  argued  the  case  strongly,  fretted  and  fumed  not  a  lit- 
tle, and  told  Uncle  Peter  that  he  had  better  be  at  home 
minding  his  own  business,  than  to  come  there  and  get 
away  their  teacher.  Yet,  on  the  whole,  he  received  the 
intelligence  better  than  Fanny  expected. 

u  Tell  ye  what,"  he  said,  taking  Uncle  Peter  by  the 
button-hole,  "  I  don't  blame  you  for  takin'  good  care  of  that 
little  girl.  There  ain't  many  such  in  these  parts.  She  'a 
done  the  young  ones  a  powerful  sight  of  good,  and  if  she 
has  n't  taught  the  old  ones  a  lesson  or  two,  it  ain't  her 
fault.  We  'd  like  to  keep  her  right  well.  I  was  tellin' 
my  wife  there  the  other  day,  that  there  was  religion 
enough  in  her  to  carry  us  all  up,  if  she  stayed  here  lona 


WESTERN     BORDER     LIFK. 

enough.     But  if  she  must  go,  she   must,  only  don't  you 
let  nobody  look  down  on  her,  rich  or  poor,  do  you  hear?" 

It  was  more  difficult  to  gain  Mrs.  Catlett's  consent  to 
the  new  arrangement,  and  Fanny,  upon  whom  that  task 
devolved,  almost  gave  up  in  despair  as  the  lady  continued 
her  tirade  of  lamentations  and  grievances.  She  sat  down, 
however,  with  her  that  evening,  and  planned  it  all  out. 
Nanny  had  promised  to  hear  Joy  and  Johnny  recite  an 
hour  or  two  every  day,  and  the  girls  might  continue  their 
studies  under  the  direction  of  Mr.  Mack,  Mr.  Turner's 
teacher,  who  would  be  glad  of  two  or  three  more  scholars 
through  the  winter.  It  was  troublesome  to  send  them  so 
far,  but  better  than  that  they  should  idle  away  their  time 
at  home. 

All  this  time,  however,  she  had  a  deep-laid  plan  in  her 
heart,  which  she  at  last  disclosed  with  fear  and  trembling. 
They  might  not  be  able  to  secure  another  teacher  at  pres- 
ent, and  then,  perhaps,  not  a  permanent  one.  Changing 
instructors  was  always  injurious,  now  why  not  send  the 
girls  to  some  good  boarding-school  in  New  England,  to 
go  through  with  a  thorough  course  of  study." 
"  Mercy !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Catlett, "  think  of  the  expense." 

"  It  would  be  more  expensive,"  Fanny  said,  "  but  the 
a  Ivantages  were  greater  in  proportion.  They  would  never 
regret  giving  their  children  a  good  education.  Would 
they  think  of  the  plan?  She  would  take  the  oversight  of 
their  studies,  and  be  a  sister  to  them  in  every  respect." 

She  looked  anxiously  at  Mr.  Catlett,  but  he  remained 
silent.  His  wife,  however,  declared  it  to  be  impossible. 
"  It  would  cost  all  they  were  worth  to  send  three  great 
tearing  girls  to  a  boarding-school.  It  was  hard  enough  to 
raise  money  now,  without  any  more  pulls  on  the  purse- 
strings.  It  had  been  a  dreadful  year,  too.  The  wheat 
3rop  was  very  small,  and  the  tobacco  about  as  bad.  Then 
they  had  lost  the  girl,  Martha  and  the  expenses  of  the 


UNCLE  PETER  ON  THE  BORDER.      389 

Kanzas  folly  had  footed  up  to  a  large  amount.     O,  no !  it 
could  n't  be  thought  of  for  a  moment !" 

Fanny  looked  discouraged,  but  a  pair  of  pleading  eyes 
were  gazing  in  her  face,  and  a  little  hand  pressed  hers  so 
convulsively,  that  she  commenced  again  and  talked  so  earn 
estly,  addressing  herself  to  Mr.  Catlett,  that  that  gentle- 
man promised  to  think  about  it. 

"  You  see,  wife,"  he  said,  in  talking  the  matter  over 
with  that  lady,  "  it 's  worth  a  hundred  dollars  a  year  to 
have  the  young  ones  under  that  girl's  influence,  I  tell  you. 
I  '11  think  about  it." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Catlett,  'Ria  can't  go  anyhow.  She  's  too 
old  to  go  to  school,  and  Nanny  '11  be  stepping  off  before 
long,  and  I  want  'Ria  for  oldest  daughter  at  home  ;  but 
if  you  are  a  mind  to  foot  the  bills,  I  don't  care  if  Cal  and 
Maud  were  to  go  for  a  year  or  two.  As  you  say  it 's  a 
good  deal  to  ha^e  somebody  to  see  to  'em,  and  I  really 
believe  they  do  \'i  /e  the  girl." 

"  Why,  Maud,  uhild,"  said  her  father,  as  she  whispered 
something  in  his  ear,  "  you  don't  want  £0  go  way  back 
there  to  Connecticut,  away  from  every  body,  do  you?" 

"  Yes,  I  do." 

"What  for,  chick?  What  do  you  expect  to  learn 
there  ?" 

"  O,  pa,  if  I  stay  with  Miss  Fanny,  I  know  I  shall  learn 
how  to  be  good." 

The  grief  felt  by  the  whole  family  at  the  prospect  of 
losing  Fanny,  was  soon  in  some  measure  forgotten  in  the 
bustle  of  preparation  for  Dave's  wedding.  It  may  astonish 
our  readers,  as  it  did  most  of  the  people  on  the  prairie,  that 
the  young  man  should  end  his  bachelor  days  so  suddenly 
After  this  wise  was  it  brought  about. 

Madam  Gamby  one  day  came  riding  over  on  "  Old 
White,"  and  requested  Mrs.  Catlett  to  send  off  the  young 
ones,  for  she  had  a  little  business  to  talk  over  with  herself 


3V"J  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

and  Dave.  The  old  lady  was  heartily  ashamed  of  her 
tr^aunent  of  poor  Fanny  in  Kanzas,  and  even  conde- 
scended ^  hen  the  family  first  returned  to  the  prairie,  to 
ride  over  and  make  an  apology  to  the  young  lady  herself. 

"  You  «ee  I  had  n't  nothing  particular  agin  you,  Miss 
Fanny,"  she  said,  "  except  your  helpin'  off  them  fellers, 
and  I  should  have  felt  different  about  them,  if  I  'd  known 
they  was  the  squire's  friends.  I  just  wanted  to  scare  you 
a  little,  that  was  all ;  but  I  'm  sure  I  never  thought  you  'd 
go  tearin'  off  inter  the  woods  at  the  rate  you  did.  You 
might  have  known  I  had  n't  had  time  to  tell  the  governor 
of  you,  for  the  fellers  hadn't  been  gone  above  half  an 
hour.  Come,  now,  let  by-gones  be  by-gones,  and  shake 
hands  and  be  friends." 

This  Fanny  was  quite  ready  to  do,  and  though  Mr.  Cat- 
lett  was  but  half-reconciled  to  the  "  old  hag,-"  as  he  called 
her,  she  resumed  her  former  footing  with  the  family.  On 
the  present  occasion,  the  room  being  closed,  Madam 
Gamby  stretched  her  feet  upon  the  hearth,  and  thus 
opened  her  business. 

u  Neighbor  Catlett,"  she  said,  "  I  'm  a  plain-spoken 
woman,  as  you  all  know.  It  ain't  my  way  to  be  hangin' 
round  and  waitin'  to  see  which  way  the  wind  blows,  or 
how  things  work  themselves.  I  like  to  get  my  paw  in 
and  give  'em  a  shove.  Well,  you  know  my  claim  over 
the  border  ?  I  find  it  wants  'tendin'  to,  the  balance  of  the 
time.  You  see  those  rascally  free-soilers  are  pouring  into 
Kanzas  as  thick  as  fleas,  and  if  you  ain't  on  the  gromr.l 
pretty  much  all  the  while,  they  work  heaps  of  mischief 
Well,  I  can't  be  in  two  places  at  once,  and  what  I  vant  is 
to  get  a  manager  for  my  place  over  here,  so  that  I  can 
walk  straight  to  Kanzas,  and  get  my  place  there  into  good 
shape.  Now,  then,  I  'm  comin'  right  to  the  pint.  There  's 
a  chap  from  over  the  river  settin'  up  to  my  Boss.  He 
seems  likely  enough,  and  I  can't  say  as  I  see  any  particu- 


UNCLE  PETEK  ON  THE  BOKDEB.      391 

lar  objection  to  him,  but  the  gal  herself  seems  rather  to 
take  a  shine  to  your  Dave,  and  I  've  noticed  he 's  been 
rather  sweet  on  her  for  quite  a  while.  Now  thinks  I  to 
myself,  they  are  old  neighbors,  and  I  reckon  I  '11  give  'em 
the  first  chance.  So  that 's  my  business  to-day.  If  the 
boy  's  a  notion  to  step  in  right  off  and  be  head-man  on  as 
pretty  a  farm  as  there  is  in  Missouri,  now  's  the  chance  ; 
if  not,  the  other  chap  stands  ready,  and  we  '11  settle  mat- 
ters with  him.  What  do  you  say,  young  man  ?" 

Dave  had  turned  all  sorts  of  colors  during  this  speech, 
and  at  its  conclusion  rose  and  walked  to  the  window. 

"  He 's  quite  overpowered  at  the  good  news,"  whispered 
Mrs.  Catlett, "  being  unexpected,  too.  He 's  so  fond  of  Boss, 
but  Dave  is  naturally  bashful,  and  apt  to  be  despairing." 

"  Nonsense  !"  said  Madam  Gamby.  "  I  want  an  answer 
right  off.  What 's  done,  must  be  done  in  a  hurry.  If  it 's 
the  funds  you  want  to  know  about,  all  I  've  got  to  say  is, 
that  whoever  takes  one  of  my  daughters,  will  have  a  good 
livin'  and  half  what 's  left,  when  I  step  off.  Come,  speak 
quick  if  you  want  the  gal." 

"  I  '11  take  her,"  said  Dave,  with  a  kind  of  a  gasp. 

"  Very  well,  that 's  settled,  then.  Now  I  've  got  to  be 
over  on  that  claim  by  next  Friday  week,  sure.  So  we  'd 
better  get  the  wedding  over  with  by  next  week,  certain." 

"  So  soon  ?"  said  Dave,  faintly. 

"Bless  you,  yes  I  There's,  nothing  like  doing  such 
things  up  in  season.  I  've  sent  to  town  for  the  gal's 
fixin's,  for  a  weddin'  I  'm  bound  to  have  next  week." 

And  a  wedding  there  was.  Madam  Gamby  rode  home 
on  her  "  Old  White"  to  acquaint  the  bride  elect  with  the 
result  of  her  negotiations,  while  Dave  prepared  himself 
for  the  occasion,  by  two  or  three  drinking  frolics,  after 
which  it  was  observed  that  he  appeared  to  be  perfectly 
resigned  to  his  fate. 


CHAPTER  XLIL 

THE       DARK       RIVER. 

DURING  the  last  few  weeks  of  Fanny's  stay  on  the 
prairie  it  was  evident  that  Annt  Phebe  was  failing  very 
fast.  For  a  long  time  she  had  only  left  her  arm-chair  by 
the  fireside  for  her  bed  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  and  at 
length  even  this  exertion  was  too  much  for  her,  and  so 
partly  because  it  was  difficult  for  her  to  breathe  in  a  re- 
clining posture,  and  partly  because  she  was  so  averse  to 
the  change,  they  bolstered  her  up  in  her  arm-chair,  and 
let  her  remain  there. 

"  No,  no,"  she  said  earnestly,  when  Mrs.  Catlett  pro- 
posed removing  her  to  the  bed,  "jest  let  deLord  find  me 
up  and  waitin'  for  Him.  'Pears  like  I  could  n't  watch  no 
whar  else  nigh  so  well." 

Fanny  took  her  little  Bible  down  every  day,  and  read 
a  chapter  or  two  to  the  old  woman,  and  it  was  affecting  to 
see  with  what  eagerness  she  drank  in  those  precious 
words,  many  of  which  she  had  never  heard  before.  It 
was  seldom  that  Fanny  did  not  find  Maud  there  before 
her.  The  child's  affection  for  her  old  friend,  always  earn- 
est and  strong,  seemed  just  now  to  engross  every  other 
feeling  of  her  nature.  Ever  since  they  had  told  her  that 
Aunt  Phebe  would  not  live  to  see  the  leaves  come  again, 
Maud  had  given  up  her  long  rambles  on  the  prairie,  and 
the  greater  part  of  each  day  was  spent  in  the  cabin. 

There,  sitting  01:  her  low  stool,  her  lirge,  serious  eyes 


THE    DAKK     &IVER.  393 

resting  alternately  upon  her  teacher  and  her  ol(1  friend, 
she  would  listen  to  the  chapters  that  Aunt  Phebe  loved 
the  best  to  hear,  privately  marking  passages  in  her  own 
little  Testament  for  future  reference.  "  Dar,  now,  honey, 
go  run  awhile,"  Aunt  Phebe  would  say,  "  't  ain't  nat'ral  for  . 
sich  as  you  to  stay  penned  up  'long  an  old  woman  all  day ; 
ain't  a  bit  lon'some,  you  see,  jest  thinkin'  ob  de  glory  to 
come." 

But  the  child  would  not  leave  her,  and  Aunt  Phebe 
seeing  that  to  urge  her  only  gave  her  pain,  suffered  her  to 
come  and  go  as  she  pleased.  There  had  been  no  gloom 
in  the  sick  room.  The  old  woman's  soul  seemed  so  full 
of  bright  anticipations,  and  ardent  longings  to  be  gone, 
that  it  was  impossible  to  wish  her  further  from  the  heaven 
to  which  she  was  approaching.  "  Going  home"  was  the 
chorus  of  one  of  the  hymns  she  sang,  and  her  whole  de- 
meanor was  like  one  who,  after  long  wandering  in  some 
distant  land,  receives  a  summons  to  his  father's  house. 
Even  Maud  held  long  and  cheerful  conversations  with 
her,  about  her  expected  departure,  and  if  at  some  near 
approach  to  death,  a  sudden  chillness  crept  over  the  child, 
and  the  tears  would  come,  Aunt  Phebe's  hopeful  words 
would  soon  drive  away  her  sorrow.  It  therefore  surprised 
Fanny  very  much  one  morning  as  she  entered  the  cabin 
with  her  usual  smile,  to  meet  no  answering  token  of  wel- 
come on  the  old  woman's  face,  but  in  its  place  a  troubled 
expression  that  she  had  never  seen  there  before. 

"  Miss  Fanny,"  she  said,  in  answer  to  Fanny's  anxious 
inquiries,  "  it 's  all  dark.  De  Lord 's  been  givin'  me  a 
sight  at  my  sins.  'Pears  like  I  should  n't  get  dar,  arter 
all." 

"  But  you  hope  he  has  forgiven  you  your  sins,  aunty  ?" 

"  I  did,  child,  I  did !  but  I 's  never  'pented  of  'em  as  I 
ought  afore  I  never  see  how  black  dey  was.  O,  chil'eB, 

17* 


394  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

you  don't  any  one  on  yer  know  what  a  sinner  I  be !  Miss 
Fanny,  I  'in  one  ob  dem  foolish  virgins  you  read  about 
t'  other  day,  goin'  to  meet  de  bridegroom  widout  any  oil 
in  dar  lamps.  Thar  ain't  de  fust  drop  in  mine,  and  it 's  all 
^dark!  dark !"  She  seemed  in  great  distress,  wringing 
her  hands,  and  rocking  herself  back  and  forth. 

"  Aunt  Phebe,  we  are  all  great  sinners,  but  God's  for- 
giving mercy  is  greater  than  our  sins.  He  says,  '  Though 
your  sins  be  as  scarlet,  they  shall  be  white  as  snow,' " 

"  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say  agin 
the  Lord  !  but  there  don't  none  ob  dem  promises  mean 
me  !  I 's  been  agoin'  on  like  I  was  a  Christian,  tryin'  to 
make  out  I  was  better  'n  every  body  else,  and  I 's  de  bery 
worst  ob  all.  O  !  what  ken  I  do  ?  Chil'en,"  turning  with 
streaming  eyes  to  two  or  three  fellow-servants  at  the  door, 
"  don't  let  this  yer  turn  you  back.  You  keep  right  on, 
'pent  ob  your  sins,  and  trust  in  de  Lord,  and  He  won't 
cast  you  off  in  your  dyin'  hour.  Chil'en,  I 's  been  cheat- 
in'  you  all  along,  but  I  did  n't  go  to  do  it.  I  thought  I 
was  on  de  road  to  glory,  sure  enough.  You  keep  right 
on,  I  want  to  see  you  all  dar  if  I  be  cast  out." 

"And  why  need  you  be  cast  out,  aunty?  Not  because 
you  are  a  sinner,  for  Christ  died  for  just  such  sinners  as 
you.  O,  Aunt  Phebe,  have  you  forgotten  all  those  bright 
promises  that  used  to  cheer  you  so  ?" 

"  Dey  are  all  gone,  honey.  Dar  ain't  nothin'  left  but 
dark.  Satan's  done  got  de  victory  dis  time." 

And  in  this  hopeless  strain  she  continued.  It  was  in 
vain  that  Fanny  talked  to  her  of  the  forgiving  mercy  of 
God,  of  full  salvation  through  Jesus  Christ,  the  free  invi- 
tations of  the  Gospel.  They  seemed  to  bring  no  comfort 
to  hei  mind.  A  deep  overwhelming  conviction  of  sin  shut 
out  every  ray  of  hope.  Fanny  tried  to  treat  her  like  an 
unconverted  sinner,  entreating  her  to  repent  and  believe 


THE    DARK    RIVER.  395 

in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Aunt  Phebe  cried  out  with 
soos  and  tears  that  it  was  too  late.  Then  Fanny  took  the 
other  course,  recalling  to  her  recollection  all  the  bright 
evidence  she  had  given  that  she  was  indeed  a  child  of 
Gcd.  Her  consistent  life — her  love  of  prayers,  and  re- 
ligious conversation,  and  her  constant  efforts  to  bring 
others  to  Christ.  It  but  plunged  her  into  deeper  despair, 
for  she  counted  it  all  as  hypocrisy,  declaring  that  she  had 
been  a  wretched  deceiver  all  her  life.  Her  self-righteous- 
ness was  all  gone ;  she  looked  upon  herself  as  the  vilest  of 
sinners,  and  with  tears  and  groans  deplored  her  doom. 

Hours  and  hours  Fanny  spent  with  her  in  reading  the 
Scriptures  and  in  prayer,  but  no  effect  was  produced. 
The  cloud  was  not  lifted.  No  ray  of  light  penetrated  her 
soul,  and  as  this  constant  agitation  of  mind  was  fast  wear- 
ing  out  the  body,  it  seemed  as  though  she  must  soon  die 
in  gloom  and  despair.  "  O,  Miss  Fanny,"  Maud  would 
say  again  and  again,  "  do  comfort  aunty  !  It  just  breaks 
my  heart  to  see  her  so." 

To  her  fellow-servants  this  sudden  change  from  sun- 
shine to  darkness  was  unaccountable.  They  had  always 
looked  upon  Aunt  Phebe  as  a  saint  upon  earth,  a  pattern 
of  all  that  was  good  and  excellent,  and  as  for  her  religion, 
why,  as  Uncle  Caesar  expressed  it,  she  "  had  enough  to 
toat  her  dry-shod  clar  ober  Jordan."  For  years  they  had 
witnessed  her  exemplary  life ;  had  seen  how  her  whole 
heart  was  in  her  religion  ;  listened  to  her  exhortations 
with  the  deepest  reverence,  and  borne  the  severest  re- 
proofs from  her  lips.  As  far  back  as  most  of  them  could 
remember,  Aunt  Phebe  had  seemed  on  the  very  borders 
of  Canaan,  waiting  the  Lord's  time  to  take  her  home,  and 
now  when  she  was  "  mos'  dar,"  and  the  Lord  had  stuck 
by  her  thirty  years,  for  Satan  to  get  the  victory  at  last. 
u  O  !"  said  AuntTibby,  "  it 's  enough  to  make  us  all  shakr 


396  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

to  link  what  He  ken  do,  and  who 's  agoin'  to  get  clar  if 
Aunt  Phebe  don't,  hey  ?" 

44  Well,  dar  's  one  ting,"  said  Viny,  pertly,  "  mebbe  it  's 

bad,  but  I  do  say,  if  the  Lord  throws  off  Aunt  Phebo  arter 

all  she 's  been  adoin'  for  Him  dese  thirty  years,  I  don't 

ink  dar 's  much  use  in  the  rest  ob  us  tryin'  to  be  good, 

I  do  so." 

Some  one  repeated  this  speech  to  Aunt  Phebe,  and  it 
>  almost  broke  her  heart. 

46  Dis  yer  's  de  wust  ob  all,"  she  cried.  "  'Pears  like  I 
could  bar  to  go  down  alone,  but  to  drag  odders  along,  too. 
O,  chil'en,  don't  you  talk  dat  way !  Don't  you  get  sot 
agin  de  Lord.  It 's  all  jest  right,  I  '11  be  whar  I  belong, 
but  if  de  Lord  will  jest  let  me  look  ober  inter  glory,  and 
see  you  dar  a  tunin'  your  harps,  and  singing  His  praise, 
'pears  like  I  could  most  feel  happy.  O,  chil'en,  it  ain't  de 
Lord's  fault  dat  I  'm  goin'  down  to  torment,  and  I  '11 
praise  Him  if  He  does  send  me  dar." 

"Aunt  Phebe,"  said  Fanny,  one  day,  after  she  had 
made  use  of  some  such  expression,  "  an  unpardoned  sinner 
does  n't  talk  that  way.  If  God  was  as  angry  with  you  as 
you  think,  you  would  n't  love  him  like  that.  The  blood 
of  your  precious  Saviour — " 

"No,  no,  Miss  Fanny,  not  mine !  not  mine  !" 

44  He  is  yours,  Aunt  Phebe,  unless  you  refuse  to  trust  in 
Him.  If  you  expect  to  get  to  heaven  any  other  way  than 
through  His  righteousness,  you  are  under  a  dreadful  mis- 
take, and  if  you  will  think  so  much  about  your  own  sins, 
as  to  shut  out  all  love  to  your  Redeemer,  and  faith  that 
He  can  save  you,  in  spite  of  them  all,  I  don't  know  but  it 
must  be  as  you  say,  and  you  be  miserably  lost  at  last." 

44  O,  Miss  Fanny,  don't  you  say  dat !" 

44  You  have  been  putting  too  much  trust  in  your  own 
goodness,  and  now  that  God  has  taken  away  this  prop  and 


THE    DARK    BIVKB.  39} 

showed  you  how  sinful  and  vile  you  are,  these  very  sina 
serve  you  as  an  excuse.  You  fall  back  upon  them,  and 
put  your  Saviour  out  of  the  question.  You  put  no  trust 
in  Him,  and  so  He  never  will  be  yours." 

"  I  know  it !  I  know  it !  O  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  Whar 
shall  I  look  ?» 

"  Where  can  you  look  but  to  Jesus  Christ,  aunty !  to 
4  the  Lamb  of  God  who  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the  world !'  " 

"  Miss  Fanny,  I  will  look  to  Him  !  Mebbe  't  ain't  no 
use.  Mebbe  He  won't  hear  to  me,  but  leastways  I'll 
try." 

That  afternoon  Fanny  was  called  down  to  the  cabin  to 
see  Aunt  Phebe  die.  The  paleness  of  death  was  on  her 
face,  but  the  old  smile  was  there,  too,  and  Fanny  saw  at  a 
glance  that  all  was  peace.  She  was  in  a  kind  of  stupor, 
but  when  they  told  her  that  Miss  Fanny  had  come,  her 
dim  eyes  brightened,  and  she  beckoned  her  to  approach. 

"  He  is  mine !"  she  whispered.  "  O,  Miss  Fanny,  He 's 
my  Lord !  my  Saviour !  I 's  found  Him !  Dar  can't 
nothin'  part  us  no  more.  I  'm  goin'  to  see  Him  face  to 
face !" 

"  I  knew  it,  aunty,"  said  Fanny,  her  own  face  beaming 
with  joy.  "  I  knew  you  would  find  Him  again.  He 
never  forsakes  those  who  put  their  trust  in  Him." 

"  It  ain't  me  !"  said  the  old  woman,  earnestly.  "  I  -5 
done  wid  dat.  I  ain't  nothirt  !  nothiri* !  De  Lord  Jesue 
He 's  done  saved  me !  You  tell  'em,"  she  whispered, 
pointing  to  a  group  of  her  fellow-servants,  who,  with  awe- 
struck faces,  stood  gazing  in  the  corner  ;  "  tell  'em  not  to 
trust  in  dar  own  goodness.  De  Lord  He  '11  gib  ?em  de 
victory.  Mass'  Jack,  Miss  Car'line.  O,  I  want  to  meet 
'em  all  up  yonder !  Tell  'em  dey  mus"*  come.  De  Lord 
dat  died  for  'em,  He  '11  let  'em  in.  Dey  must  lub  Him. 
O,  dar  ain't  nothin'  in  dis  world  worth  gibin  up  de  Lord 


398  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

for.  I  can't  speak  it,  you  tell  'em."  She  gasped  for 
breath. 

"  Aunty,  have  n't  you  one  word  for  me  ?"  said  Maud, 
pressing  forward.  She  was  deadly  pale,  but  her  large 
eyes  were  tearless. 

"  Lord  bless  you,  honey,  and  comfort  your  poor  heart. 
You  '11  be  lonesome  like  when  old  aunty's  gone,  but  de 
Lord  he  '11  make  it  up  to  you  somehow.  O,  honey,  tink 
ob  de  time  when  you  and  I  '11  meet  up  yonder.  You  've 
promised,  you  know.  I  shall  be  a  waitin'  for  you.  You 
won't  forget." 

"  I  will  meet  you  up  there,  aunty.  If  God  will  help 
me  I  '11  begin  to  be  a  Christian  this  very  day." 

The  old  woman  closed  her  eyes  with  a  smile.  There 
was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  Fanny's  voice  broke  the 
stillness  of  the  chamber  of  death  : 

"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled ;  ye  believe  in  God, 
believe  also  in  me. 

"  In  my  Father's  house  are  many  mansions;  if  it  were 
not  so  I  would  have  told  you.  I  go  to  prepare  a  place 
for  you. 

"And  if  I  go  and  prepare  a  place  for  you,  I  will  come 
again  and  receive  you  unto  myself,  that  where  I  am  there 
ye  may  be  also. 

"  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me ;  thy  rod 
and  thy  staff  they  comfort  me. 

"  And  I  saw  a  new  heaven  and  a  new  earth,  for  the 
first  heaven  and  the  first  earth  were  passed  away,  and 
there  was  no  more  sea. 

"  And  there  shall  be  no  night  there,  and  they  need  no 
candle,  neither  light  of  the  sun,  for  the  Lord  God  givetb 
them  light,  and  they  shall  reign  forever  and  ever. 

u  4nd  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes 


THE    DARK    11IVER.  399 

and  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow  nor 
crying." 

"  Most  dar,"  whispered  the  old  woman,  and  with  tho 
smile  yet  lingering  on  her  lips,  she  passed  away. 

"Thanks  be  to  God  who  giveth  us  the  victory  through 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ." 

The  same  evening,  a  little  before  sunset,  Mr.  Catlett,  who 
had  been  gone  all  day  to  Carte  rsville,  a  town  some  nine 
miles  from  the  prairie,  returned  home,  and  leaving  his  horse 
at  the  stable,  walked  up  the  lane  at  the  back  of  the  house. 
As  he  passed  Aunt  Phebe's  cabin,  he  remembered  that  ho 
had  left  her  worse  in  the  morning,  and  it  occurred  to  him 
to  look  in  a  moment  and  see  how  she  was  getting  along. 

As  he  opened  the  door,  a  ray  of  sunshine  streamed  into 
the  room.  It  fell  upon  Aunt  Phebe's  empty  chair,  upon 
the  bed  with  its  white  covering,  and  upon  the  bowed  head 
of  a  child,  kneeling  at  its  foot. 

uHovv — what!"  Mr.  Catlett  suddenly  started  back. 
Why  did  a  dullness  creep  over  him,  as  the  stark,  motion- 
less form  met  his  view,  and  he  felt  in  that  room  the  visible 
presence  of  death  ?  Whence  comes  the  mysterious  feel- 
ing with  which  the  most  thoughtless  of  us  look  upon  the 
remains  of  our  fellow-mortals,  after  the  spirit  has  taken  its 
flight  ?  We  tread  softly,  and  speak  in  whispers  in  the 
chamber  where  the  dead  one  lies,  even  though  that  one  in 
life  was  the  meanest  and  most  insignificant  of  his  kind. 
There  is  a  certain  dignity  in  death  that  all  must  acknowl- 
edge, and  he  who  pays  respect  to  no  living  person,  with 
bowed  heaa  does  homage  to  the  dead. 

"  Maud,"  said  Mr.  Catlett. 

The  child  looked  up,  and  pushing  back  her  hair,  dis- 
played a  lace  bathed  in  tears,  but  with  a  look  of  calm 
happiness  shining  through  them,  that  seemed  strangely 
at  variance  with  the  time  and  place 


400  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

"  Maad,  how  came  you  here  ?  Who  left  you  all 
alone  ?"  said  her  father,  glancing  at  the  bed. 

"  Nobody,  pa  ;  that  is,  I  mean,  I  wanted  to  stay.  Don't 
scold  Viny,  please.  I  begged  her  to  let  me  just  a  little 
while.  Indeed,  pa,  I  couldn't  go  away,"  said  Maud, 
bursting  into  tears. 

"Why  not,  child?  What  use  was  there  in  staying 
here  ?"  said  her  father,  in  a  softer  tone  than  was  usual  to 
him. 

Maud  struggled  to  repress  her  tears,  and  then,  looking 
timidly  up  in  his  face,  said,  "  Pa,  I  stayed  here  to  pray." 

Mr.  Catlett  stared  at  her,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  You  see,  I  promised  her  just  before  she  died,"  said 
Maud,  her  voice  faltering  a  little,  "  that  I'd  begin  this 
very  day  to  be  a  Christian,  and  I  knew  if  I  asked  God 
here  to  make  me  one,  he  would,  and  oh,  pa" — the  same 
bright  look  returning  to  her  face  that  it  had  worn  at  first 
• — "  I  do  believe  he  has." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Mr.  Catlett,  "they've  turned  the 
child's  head  with  their  Methodist  talk." 

"  Pa,"  said  Maud,  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own 
thoughts  to  heed  the  interruption,  "  I  'r*  glad  you  've 
come — I  want  to  ask  you  something.  I'  v  ;  wanted  to  be- 
fore, but  I  was  afraid.  I  want  you  to  forgive  me.  I  'vo 
been  a  bad  girl  times.  I  've  done  things  you  and  ma  told 
me  not  to.  I  'm  sorry,  and  I  've  asked  God  to  forgive  mer 
and  now  I  want  you  to.  I  'm  going  to  try  and  be  a  bette. : 
girl.  Will  you,  pa  ?" 

"  Don't  ask  me,  child.  I  've  nothing  to  forgive.  We 
are  bad  enough,  all  of  us,  the  Lord  knows,"  said  Mr. 
Catlett. 

Maud  ooked  at  him  wonderingly,  and  then  said,  in  a 
low  voice — 

"  She  said  she  wanted  to  meet  you  in  heaven,  pa." 


THE     DARK     RIVER.  401 

"  What  makes  you  think  she  's  got  there  herself?"  said 
Mr.  Catlett,  carelessly,  though  he  turned  away  from  the 
child's  earnest  gaze. 

"  I  don't  think ;  I  know.  That  is  n't  aunty  theve,  pa, 
Miss  Fanny  says  so.  Aunty's  in  heaven.  O  dear,  I  never 
shall  see  her  any  more,"  said  Maud,  with  a  fresh  burst  of 
grief. 

"  There !  there !  Come  away,  child,  you  '11  fret  yoursdf 
into  a  fever.  They'd  no  business  to  have  left  you  heie 
alone,"  said  her  father. 

"  Pa,"  said  Maud,  "  I  never  felt  so  happy  in  all  my 
life.  Thinking  about  aunty  do  n't  seem  to  make  me  at  all 
sorry.  I  thought  it  would.  I  thought  it  would  be  dread- 
ful  to  have  her  die,  but  now  I  feel  so  sure  that  I  '11  see 
her  again  up  yonder." 

This  was  said  with  all  Maud's  characteristic  energy, 
her  eyes  sparkling,  and  her  cheeks  glowing  with  excite- 
ment. They  stood  gazing  at  each  other  a  moment — the 
man  of  fifty  winters,  who  had  grown  gray  in  the  service 
of  this  world,  and  the  child  whose  treasure  and  whose 
heart  were  already  in  heaven.  It  was  but  a  moment,  and 
Mr.  Cattlett  turned  away  with  a  tear  in  his  eye. 

"  Well,  well,  child,  have  it  your  own  way,"  he  said ; 
and  taking  her  hand  he  led  hei  out  of  the  cab;n. 


CHAPTER    X1III. 

AUNT      PHEBE'S     GRAVE. 

"  Ir  's  the  last  time,"  said  Maud. 

They  were  walking  slowly  down  the  shaded  path  lead 
ing  through  the  woods  to  Aunt  Phebe's  newly-made 
grave. 

"  We  never  shall  walk  here  together  any  more,  Miss 
Fanny.  O,  it 's  hard  to  go  away  after  all." 

Fanny  squeezed  the  little  hand  that  was  clasped  in  hers. 

"  Of  course  you  want  to  go,  Miss  Fanny,  because  it 's 
your  home,  and  I  s'pose  you  are  a  great  deal  happier  in 
that  beautiful  place  you  've  told  us  so  much  about,  than 
you  are  'way  out  here  on  the  prairie,  but  it  seems  as  if  Cal 
and  I  were  leaving  every  thing  but  you.  I  don't  know 
what  makes  it  all  look  so  dark  to  me  to-night." 

"  It  is  n't  strange,  Maud,  that  you  should  feel  a  little 
sadly  about  leaving  home.  I  expect  you  will  feel  very 
home-sick  at  first  in  a  strange  place,  but  you  must  try  to 
look  on  the  bright  side  of  things.  See  now  how  dark  it  is 
down  in  the  woods,  while  the  tops  of  the  trees  are  all  full 
of  beautiful  golden  light.  The  sun  is  certainly  shining, 
though  we  can  not  feel  it." 

Maud  made  no  reply,  but  ran  forward  a  little  way,  and 
stooping  over  a  grave  she  laid  a  few  evergreens  at  its 
head,  and  stood  silently  by  until  her  companion  came  up. 
Then  sitting  down  side  by  side  upon  a'  flat  stump,  they 
talked  softly  together  about  the  dead,  Maud  once  or 


AUNT  PHEBE'S  GRAVE.        403 

twice  springing  up  to  gather  some  bright  berries  she 
descried  in  the  distance  to  add  to  the  little  offering  upon 
aunty's  grave. 

"  She  loved  every  thing  bright  and  beautiful  when  she 
was  alive,  Miss  Fanny,  and  I  think  there  always  ought  to 
be  flowers  on  her  grave,"  she  said.  u  Did  you  ever  see 
any  body  so  cheerful  and  happy  as  aunty  ?  and  yet  she 
had  n't  the  first  thing  to  make  her  so,  only  religion.  She 
had  heaps  of  sorrow,  you  know." 

"  I  never  heard  her  speak  of  it,"  said  Fanny. 

"  No,  she  did  n't  ever  talk  much  about  it,  but  she  told 
me.  O,  Miss  Fanny,  she  had  two  beautiful  little  babies 
that  they  stole  away  from  her  in  the  night,  and  sold  'em, 
'cause  she  would  n't  let  'em  have  'em  in  the  daytime.  She 
vSaid  for  years  and  years  she  could  n't  never  get  to  sleep 
without  hearing  'em  cry  and  scream  just  as  they  did  that 
night." 

"  She  never  told  me,"  said  Fanny.    "Was  it  long  ago  ?" 

"  O,  yes,  years  and  years,  when  she  belonged  to  Grandpa 
Whately.  You  see,  first,  her  husband,  he  belonged  to 
another  man,  that  moved  'way  off  down  river  somewhere, 
and  took  him  with  him,  and  before  poor  aunty  had  time 
to  get  over  that,  they  sold  her  two  babies  to  a  trader,  and 
she  just  went  crazy  for  ever  so  long.  She  said  she  did  n't 
get  no  comfort  till  she  found  religion,  and  then  she  see 
that  it  was  all  right.  But  I  don't  think  it's  right,  Miss 
Fanny.  I  don't  believe  God  likes  to  have  such  things 
happen.  Do  you  ?" 

"  No,  Maud ;  I  think  they  are  all  wrong  from  begin 
ning  to  end." 

"  And  you  do  n't  have  'em  where  you  live,  Miss  Fanny  ?" 

"  No,  I  thank  God  that  we  have  no  slaves  in  New 
England." 

"  Then  I  wish  I  was  going  to  live  there,  too,  or  elsa 


404  WESTERN    BORDER    LIFE. 

I  wish  pa  would  send  all  the  people  there,  or  somewhere 
else  where  they  would  be  free.     I  would,  if  I  could." 

"He  would  be  a  poor  man  then,  Maud,  like  Tim  Jen 
kins  over  the  creek,  who  you  all  despise  so." 

"  I  don't  care.     I  had  rather  be  '  poor  white  folks'  ai 
ny  life  than  to  have  such  things  happening." 

"  Why  Maud,  you  are  getting  quite  excited." 

"Miss  Fanny,  I  've  been  thinking  heaps  about  it  lately 
I  used  to  talk  to  aunty,  but  she  did  n't  like  to  hear  me 
But  I  know  what  I  mean  to  do,  Miss  Fanny,  when  I  grov\ 
up.  When  pa  gives  me  my  share  of  the  people,' I 'in 
going  to  set  'em  all  free,  every  one,  and  I  '11  study  real 
hard  and  know  heaps,  and  then  I  can  get  my  living  teach- 
ing school  like  you  do.  That 's  just  what  I  mean  to  do." 

Fanny  smiled  at  the  child's  enthusiasm  ;  but  she  kissed 
her  heartily,  calling  her  her  own  bravo  girl. 

It  was  a  sorrowful  day  at  La  Belle  Prairie  when  Fanny 
and  her  two  scholars  went  away.  From  Mass'  Jack  and 
Miss  Car'line  in  the  "  big  house,"  do\vn  to  Aunt  Tibby 
and  the  little  piccaninnies  in  the  kitchen,  all  regretted  tbuir 
departure. 

Dave  was  to  drive  them  do\vn  to  Belchei's  to  take  the 
stage,  and  while  big  William  was  gearing  the  horses, 
Fanny  slipped  down  to  the  quarters  to  bid  the  servants 
good-by.  It  was  about  sunset,  and  the  field  hands  were 
just  returning  from  their  day's  work.  They  all  gathered 
around  her,  men,  women  and  children,  and  while  she 
passed  from  one  to  another  shaking  hands,  and  speaking  a 
few  parting  words,  there  was  plenty  of  sobbing  among  the 
women,  and  one  or  two  of  the  men  wiped  their  eyes  with 
their  shirt-sleeves. 

"Don't  see  what  on  airth  we's  goin'  to  do  widout  her," 
said  Aunt  Tibby.  "  'Pears  like  a  streak  ob  sunshine  was 
goin'  off  de  place." 


AUNT  PHEBKS  GUAVE.  405 

"  It  does  so,"  said  tv\  3  or  three. 

"  Leastways  dar  won't  be  no  'ligion  left,1'  said  Viny, 
1  Aunt  Phebe  and  Miss  Fanny  both  gone." 

"  Miss  Fanny  don'  forget  me,"  said  a  little  squeaking 
voice,  and  black  Jake  pressed  forward  with  his  apron  full 
of  berries  which  ho  thrust  into  Fanny's  hands,  while 
Patsey  brought  her  baby  in  the  little  dress  and  apron 
Fanny  had  made  for  it,  holding  in  its  chubby  hand  an  egg 
for  a  parting  gift. 

" Bless  her  heart,"  said  Patsey,  "she's  cryin'  her  own 
self,"  and  with  a  few  earnest  words  of  advice,  interrupted 
by  their  sobs  and  ejaculations,  Fanny  took  her  leave  of 
them. 

The  parting  words  were  all  said  at  last,  and  the  farm- 
wagon  containing  the  travelers,  wound  slowly  over  the 
prairie.  As  they  approached  a  curve  in  the  road  that 
would  scon  hide  the  house  from  view,  Fanny  turned  to 
take  one  more  look  at  her  late  home.  The  sun  had  set, 
and  upon  the  golden  hue  in  the  west  the  evening  shades 
were  fast  settling.  The  house  looked  white  and  ghastly 
against  the  evening  sky,  and  two  or  three  trees  in  front 
seemed  waving  their  long  arms  in  silent  adieu.  Fanny 
gazed  till  a  turn  in  the  road  hid  it  from  her  sight,  and 
with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  and  a  feeling  of  sincere  regret  in 
her  heart,  she  bade  farewell  to  her  home  on  La  Belle 
Prairie. 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

THE     FINALE. 

WIIA*  !  no  wedding  ?  Have  we  followed  the  young 
people  t  trough  all  their  doubts  and  difficulties,  and  are 
we  not  to  see  them  comfortably  married  off  at  last  ?  It  'a 
too  bad  !  Well,  dear  reader,  what  could  we  do  ?  It  was 
only  last  winter  that  our  lovers  plighted  their  faith.  We 
can  only  inform  you  that  they  are  in  earnest  correspond- 
ence, that  the  young  man  is  pursuing  his  theological 
studies,  and  that  they  are  unitedly  bent  upon  a  mission  to 
Kanzas.  In  their  fresh  enthusiasm,  "  hoping  all  things, 
believing  all  things,"  they  will  go  hand  in  hand  to  their 
work.  May  God  go  with  them  and  make  them  the  apos- 
tles of  a  pure  Gospel. 

Jack  Catlett  still  occupies  the  old  family  mansion, 
though  he  feels  decidedly  poor,  for  the  war  in  Kanzas,  and 
the  loss  on  the  claim,  have  taken  several  thousands  from  his 
estate.  Mrs.  Catlett  still  frets  at  the  servants,  and  calls 
oftener  than  ever  for  her  pipe  and  a  shovel  of  coals. 
Maud,  the  brave,  enthusiastic  Maud,  is  in  Connecticut, 
and  declares  that  as  "  soon  as  ever  she  is  grown,  she  will 
go  out  to  Kanzas  and  help  Miss  Fanny  to  do  good."  It 
would  not  be  strange  if  she  should  carry  out  her  resolve, 
for  she  possesses  energy  and  perseverance  enough  to  ac- 
complish any  thing  she  proposes,  and  in  spite  of  Uncle 
Peter's  prediction,  that  the.  ghost  of  the  "  grand-daughter 
of  Governor  Peters,  of  Virginia"  would  rise  in  indigna- 
tion from  the  grave,  if  one  of  her  descendants  should 
teach  school  for  a  living,  we  expect  one  day  to  hear 


THE     FINALE.  407 

that  Maud  Oatlett  has  become  a  missionary  teacher  at  the 
West. 

That  old  sprig  of  Virginian  aristocracy,  Madam  Hester, 
was  found  one  day  dead  in  her  chair,  and  the  dust  of  the 
"  grand-daughter  of  Governor  Peters  of  Virginia"  has 
mingled  with  that  of  our  common  mother  earth  at  last. 

Tom  Walton  spends  much  of  his  time  in  St.  Louis,  and 
it  is  whispered  that  he  has  bestowed  his  blighted  affec- 
tions upon  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Judge  Stanton,  who 
has  kindly  consented  to  make  him  happy. 

Bob  Turner,  and  Nan  also,  expect  to  be  married  in  the 
fall,  and  as  Dave,  with  his  bride,  are  settled  on  Madam 
Gamby's  old  place,  that  lady  being  in  Kanzas  the  greater 
part  of  the  time,  we  may  expect  gay  times  next  Christ- 
mas with  three  young  couples  on  the  prairie. 

The  widow  and  Zi  occupy  their  rightful  claim  in  Kan- 
zas, and  Jack  Catlett  frequently  declares,  with  a  terrible 
oath,  that  nobody  shall  disturb  them  if  he  can  help  it. 

Tim  Jenkins  had  found,  by  conversing  with  free  State 
men  in  Lawrence,  that  he  could  find  schools  there 
for  his  child,  and  having  made  a  little  sum  as  a  soldier, 
he  determined  to  take  a  claim,  and  remove  his  family 
upon  it.  So  immediately  after  the  siege  of  Lawrence  he 
became  a  citizen  of  Kanzas ;  but,  strange  to  say,  votes 
steadily  for  the  introduction  of  slavery,  so  blind  are 
men  to  their  true  interests.  Though  good  men  there 
hoped  at  first  that  the  change  in  location  would  work  a 
reformation  in  this  shiftless  man,  yet  it  became  soon 
manifest  that  as  the  Ethiopian  can  not  change  his  skin, 
nor  a  leopard  his  spots,  so  next  to  impossible  is  it  for  one 
in  years  to  reform  the  habits  of  a  lifetime.  Tim  Jenkins 
is  Tim  Jenkins  still,  but  his  little  daughter  attends  a  school 
near  by,  and  is  a  promising  scholar.  The  removal  to 
Kanzas  may  prove  an  infinite  blessing  to  her. 

As  for  Martha,  she  had  retreated  from  Lawrence,  a* 


*08  WESTERN     BORDER     LIFE. 

soon  as  she  knew  that  her  master  was  there.  She  need 
not  have  done  so.  Jack  Catlett  made  little  effort  to  re- 
cover the  fugitive.  He  did  not  wish  to  sell  a  hand  to 
Texas,  and  the  whole  family  stood  in  great  fear  of  the 
girl,  Mrs.  C.  particularly,  declaring  that  she  would  rather 
do  half  the  work  herself  than  to  have  her  round  again. 
After  the  family  returned  to  the  prairie,  Martha  camo 
back  to  the  city,  where  she  is  an  industrious  laborer  for 
wages,  arid  does  exceedingly  well,  so  long  as  the  lull  of 
the  storms  which  visit  that  distracted  country  laave  her 
unexcited  as  to  her  wrongs.  But  when  she  snuffs  the 
battle  afar  off,  she  seems  like  a  fiend  of  darkness,  and 
wanders  about,  working  mischief  to  both  sides. 

Uncle  Tim  and  Aunt  Lina  are  living  together  in  one 
cabin  as  the  hands  of  Dave,  Mr.  Catlett  having  given  this 
faithful  servant  to  his  son.  They  are  superlatively  happy 
in  their  union,  but  Uncle  Tim  has  never  been  able  to  for- 
give himself  for  getting  that  saw  for  "  Miss  Fanny." 

The  future  of  this  beautiful  country  where  our  scene 
has  been  laid,  is,  at  the  time  of  our  completing  this  his- 
tory, all  enveloped  in  darkness.  No  human  eye  can  look 
far  enough  adown  the  vista  of  time,  with  the  vision  of 
prophecy,  to  unroll  its  destiny  to  men. 

What  trials  and  struggles  may  await  Harry  Chester  and 
Fanny,  with  Maud  Catlett,  in  their  efforts  to  give  true 
Christianity,  with  a  Bible  education,  to  Kanzas,  will  de- 
pend very  much  upon  the  solution  of  the  question  of 
liberty  and  slavery  there.  Full  of  great  results  is  the 
problem  of  the  freedom  of  this  Territory.  The  history  of 
the  State  will  unfold  itself  in  the  moral  power  of  such 
citizens  as  Gamby  with  her  slaves,  or  Harry  Chester  with 
a  free  Gospel. 

THE     END. 


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